


The Lion in the North

by Kittles123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123
Summary: Set post-episode ten, season six.  Mostly show-canon compliant except for Ser Barristan Selmy.Jaime Lannister returns to King's Landing after ending the siege at Riverrun to find the Sept of Baelor a smoking ruin.  Cersei sits the Iron Throne, and now he must face the truth of what she has become.  Eventually fate, as it has a habit of doing, reunites him with both Tyrion and Brienne of Tarth.





	1. Sweet Sister

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fan fiction I've ever written, though I grew up reading it. This chapter picks up right where the TV series left off in King's Landing, from a Jaime POV.
> 
> I am a book fan as well as a show fan, but this fic is based off the television versions of the characters.
> 
> It should be complete by the end of December at 18 chapters, and I might have an idea for a sequel :) Thanks for reading!
> 
> These characters, places, etc are not my property or creation

**Sweet Sister**

 

The throne room smelled of wildfire.  The sickeningly pungent scent overwhelmed Jaime as he watched Qyburn place the delicately twisted crown atop Cersei’s golden head.  Mixed in was the smell of burnt wood and something else, something that reminded him of the final years of Aerys Targaryen’s reign.  Cersei’s eyes locked with his own, cold and calculating, as he tried to fathom what had happened.  Notably absent was the High Sparrow and his minions - not shocking considering the Sept of Baelor was a ruin of ashes.  The Tyrells were absent as well as his Uncle Kevan, which was more concerning.  But it was the absence of Tommen that sent an icy chill down his spine.

_ Sweet sister, where is our son? _

Then, as the crowd chanted “Long may she reign,” Jaime saw Cersei turn her slender neck and look to the abomination standing at her left hand side.  Ser Robert Strong turned his hulking head to look at him.  The glassy eyes encased by bloated white flesh bore into Jaime, like a predator locking onto its prey.

He knew he needed to leave, but as he turned to exit the throne room, three of Cersei’s Queensguard were on him.  They wore full armor so he could not make out their faces, but one man seemed to take particular pleasure in apprehending him.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, the queen will see you in her solar,” he said as he slammed Jaime against the stone wall.  The other men disarmed him.  As they led him out the side of the throne room, he looked down the halls for Bronn.  There was no sign of him, and Jaime could only hope that the sellsword had slipped into the crowded streets unnoticed.

The men forced him along the hall, and then shoved him down a flight of stairs, deeper into the Red Keep.  His overly zealous captor took any chance he could to cuff him on the back of the head with his gauntlet.  By the fifth strike, Jaime stumbled.

“This is the respect you show to your former Lord Commander?” he asked.  “What will my sweet sister think when she hears about this?”

“You will address her as Her Grace, Queen Cersei.  She is ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and you would do well to remember it.  There is a new Lord Commander now.”

They rounded a dark corner and threw Jaime into a small room with no windows and only one door.  Ser Robert Strong stood in the shadows of one corner with Qyburn standing next to him, whispering orders to him occasionally, which the monster followed as if he were on an invisible leash.

“Ser Jaime, the Queen is pleased with your success at Riverrun.  We hear the castle is safely out of the hands of the traitors and the Blackfish is dead,” Qyburn said in his grandfatherly way.

“Where is Tommen?”  Jaime clenched his fists at his sides.  He knew the answer already.  The only way Cersei could be crowned is if the boy was gone.

“King Tommen was the victim of an unfortunate accident.  He apparently slipped while looking out his balcony and fell to his death.  I know, a freak accident, but an accident nonetheless.”

Jaime glanced at Ser Robert, but his eyes remained greasy and blank.  The Mountain was gone and replaced by a monstrous puppet, controlled by Cersei and Qyburn.  Just then he noticed the pin on Qyburn’s robes, marking him as Hand of the Queen.  How much blood had been spilled on that pin, Jaime wondered, but then the door creaked open.

Cersei strode in, regal and frighteningly beautiful.  Jaime felt his heart catch in his throat at the sight of her.  Her face was smooth and glowed in the torchlight, and her proud jaw contrasted perfectly with her slender white neck.

“Kneel before your Queen,” one of the white cloaks behind him growled and shoved him unceremoniously to his knees, which cracked against the stone floor.

Jaime watched the floor as Cersei came around to stand before him  Her silky black skirts fluttered in her wake and her dainty heels clicked sharply on the cold floor.

“My sweet brother,” she said and caressed his cheek.  He resisted the instinct to lean into her touch.  That was all gone now.  It had been for some time.  “What news of Riverrun?”

He swallowed down a hundred different accusatory comments and snide remarks, and instead replied with only, “It is returned to its rightful lord.”

“Really?  A raven came and told me that old Walder Frey is dead.  A serving girl opened up his throat as he sat at his own table,” Qyburn said.

“Not surprising.  I’m sure there is a long list of men who wanted to see Walder Frey dead.  His own heirs have been waiting for him to die for half a century.  He’s not an endearing man.  Can I get up now?”  He went to stand, and he heard the Queensguard rustle in their armor behind him.

“No,” Cersei replied, savoring the word.  “I like you right where you are.”  She came close to him again and raised his chin with a slender finger to meet his eyes.  Sometimes, when they were this close, Jaime could still imagine that he was looking in a mirror.  “I found out your little secret.”

Jaime swallowed, his throat dry.   _ And what secret is that, sweet sister?  That I hate you?  That I sent the Maid of Tarth on a quest to keep Sansa safe, when all you wanted was her dead? _

“That I don’t shit gold?”

She shoved his face roughly away, and Robert Strong stirred in his dark corner.  “I found out why you thrust a sword through Aerys Targaryen’s back.  There is wildfire beneath this wretched city, miles of it, as far as the eye can see.  And finally, it all made sense.  Why would my perfect brother dishonor himself by breaking a sacred vow that would haunt him for the rest of his life?  And when I put it together, it gave me an idea.  I knew you would not approve, so I sent you to Riverrun so you could not interfere.”

“And was Tommen’s death part of the plan?” He snarled and stood up.  If he still had two hands, he would have strangled her right there.  He got nose to nose with her before Robert Strong smashed him to the ground.    Jaime felt the air leave his lungs, as if they had collapsed on themselves, and he gasped raggedly as he lay sprawled on the stones.  “Our son,” he managed to whisper.

“My son,” Cersei corrected him.  “My last child.  You know I will never have another.  If I were a man, I could keep pumping out children one after the next until my cock finally wore out.  But a woman’s time is limited.  So to answer your question, no, I did not murder my last child.  He was so sweet, but gullible, and mayhaps too good for this world.  If you must blame someone, blame the High Sparrow.  Though he is nothing but ash now.  Stand him up.”

The men grabbed Jaime under the arms and forced him to his feet.

“Now, dear brother, I will have you answer just one question.  Would you have stabbed me in the back too?  I burned my enemies, but I also burned innocents in the streets, the explosion was so enormous.”  Her voice hitched with pleasure at those words, and Jaime felt bile rise up in his throat.  “So,  _ honorable  _ Jaime Lannister, what is your answer?”  Her eyes burned like wildfire as she sneered at him.

His vision was blurry with anger and the faces of his dead children with rocks on their eyes lay over him like a veil.  “My only regret would have been that I hadn’t done it sooner.”  He was reckless with his words, but he found he did not care anymore. “You say you loved them so much, but here we are.”  

“Throw him in the black cells.”

“Yes, my queen,” the Queensguard said.

As the white cloaks dragged him down deeper in the the Red Keep, Jaime watched Cersei disappear around a corner with Robert Strong and Qyburn at her side.  “I should never have left the city,” he muttered.  At the time, he had not wanted to leave because of Cersei’s upcoming trial.  He thought he would need to be here to protect her from everyone.  How wrong he had been.   _ I needed to be here to protect everyone else from you. _

“Quiet, Kingslayer.  No one cares about your life regrets, of which you’ve got many, no doubt.”  One of the guardsmen said as he rapped on the heavy wood door that lead to the dungeons beneath the keep.  The gaoler slid open the peephole.  “Let us in, we have another one for you.  You’ll like this one, he’s got a pretty golden hand.”

Jaime heard the brace bar slide away as the gaoler opened the heavy door, then the white cloaks shoved him through.  The dungeon’s heavy air stank and left a film on his skin.  The last time he had been down here had been to set his brother free.  He wondered where he was now.

“Take his armor, and the hand,” the head gaoler ordered with a toothless grin.  Men stripped him of his armor, roughly unbuckling his breastplate and yanking his prosthetic hand off.  The straps scraped against his skin, and he grunted but would not give them the satisfaction of complaining.  Then they tossed him in a cell, and one sniggered to him as he closed the door, “Enjoy, Kingslayer.  Nothing but the best for a Lannister of Casterly Rock.”

Rotten straw and muck coated the floor, and Jaime sneezed as the smell of mildewy hay hit him.  There was no light except for the sliver of torchlight that slipped under the door from the hallway.

“Bad break up?” a familiar voice asked.  “And here I was hoping it was taking so long because you two were making up for lost time.  But I guess the age old advice still holds true - don’t fuck your sister.”  Bronn stood up from his spot against the wall.  “So what’s the plan?  I see you’re short a hand again.”

Jaime wanted to punch his teeth in, but since he was the only ally he seemed to have, he thought better of it.  “I never liked the thing anyway, too gaudy.”

“Well, I’ve got a plan,” Bronn said cheerily, his eyes dancing.  “While you were getting manhandled by your sister, I put my ear to the ground, until I got thrown in here that is.”

“Really?  And what is this brilliant plan?”  Jaime asked incredulously.  “I’m dying to hear it.”

Bronn drew conspiratorially close to him and the stubble of his ragged cheek raked across Jaime’s own.  “Your little brother is coming, with the Dragon Queen.”

“Tyrion,” Jaime muttered dumbly.

“That’s the one.  I’ve been told we should sit tight.”

“By the fucking Seven.”  Jaime felt a strange mixture of bewilderment and overwhelming fear.  Dragons.

“And that's not all of it.  Tyrion is the Hand of the Queen.  So all we do is wait in here, and once they take the city, all our troubles will be over.  Unless you still mean to split him in two.”

Tyrion had murdered their father, and had broken Jaime’s trust.  After everything he had done for his little brother.   _ But what have I really done for him? _  Then another realization hit him.  “You're forgetting one thing, I ran the Targaryen girl’s father through with my sword.  I don’t think she will take too kindly to that.”

Bronn shrugged.  “Tyrion’s a cunning little cunt; he’ll sort it out for you,” and he clapped Jaime on the shoulder.

Jaime shook his head, the full scope of what was coming dawning on him.  “I have to get to Cersei; she must surrender the city.  The dragons will make what she did to the Sept of Baelor look like a small kitchen fire.  If she does not surrender the city, the Targaryen girl will burn it to the ground.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“If she is anything like her father, I can be sure.”

“Well, now, are you anything like your father?”  Bronn slung his thumbs through his belt and leaned back on his heels.  “And another thing, do you think Tyrion would be serving as her Hand if she was as nutty as old Aerys?  No.”

Jaime banged on the door with his good hand.  Bronn watched apathetically.  Jaime crashed both his forearms into the door, desperate to get anyone’s attention.  It never came.

“I’m telling you, she wouldn’t listen to you anyway.  She’d think you were plotting with Tyrion, and even if she didn’t, she’d never let go of that crown that just got plopped atop her pretty little head.”

Jaime finally gave up and sank to the ground.   _ Cersei, Cersei, Cersei.  I loved you once.  What has happened to you?  Or is it what has happened to me? _

“Here you go,” Bronn tossed Jaime a skin of strong wine.  “I’ve got friends everywhere - perk to being such a lowlife.  I meant to ask before, what happened to Brienne?  You know, the big one you’d like to sink your cock into?”

Jaime caught the skin in his good hand then uncorked it with his teeth.  He did not bother to give some snarky reply.  “I don’t know.”  He drank until he couldn’t feel his fingertips, neither his real ones nor his phantom ones, then fell asleep against the cold stone wall of the cell.

 

_ He was back in the baths at Harrenhal, steam rising around him thick and overwhelming.  A woman sat opposite him, obscured by steam, silhouetted by torchlight.  He felt a wave of heat, and he was aroused again, but this time he was anticipating it.  “Brienne,” he said in a halting voice. _

_ The woman dove under the water and swam toward him with determined strokes, then he felt her hands grab his cock, roughly, possessively.  Cersei rose from the water before him, golden hair and eyes like cut emeralds.  “Valonquar,” she hissed as she stroked him.  One arm rose to wrap around his neck like a snake and she pressed her red lips to his, darting her sharp tongue into his mouth like a dagger.  He couldn’t breathe, and he began to feel lightheaded.  Then she rode him and he came violently inside her.  “Mine, they are all mine.” _

_ “No!” he screamed, and pushed her head beneath the water.  She thrashed like a caged lion, ripping at the flesh of his legs.  It took all his strength to hold her under. and sweat poured down his face and into his eyes.  Then she spasmed once and became still. _

_ Jaime sobbed as he gasped for air, and when he looked up, he saw Brienne sitting at the other end of the tub, as she had at Harrenhal.  But this time, she was perched on the stone edge, her long legs dangling into the water, her body naked and glistening.  She did not cover herself, just looked at him with those icy blue eyes, and regarded him with a nod. _

 

Jaime woke in the middle of the night to the sounds of war.  Somewhere above in the keep, the booted feet of hundreds of soldiers thundered across the floor.  Bronn was awake already, sitting against a wall and listening intently.  Muffled explosions from the streets outside carried down into the dungeon to their ears.  He knew it was wildfire, and Cersei was getting desperate.  The battle was not going in her favor.  He wondered where she was and if she was scared.  He wished he could be near her to protect her, but in the end the only person she had ever needed protection from was her own self.  Somewhere along the way, his sweet sister had been replaced with this new terrifying version.  Then he heard a sound that had not been heard in the Seven Kingdoms for over one hundred years.  It was deep and ferocious and rattled his very bones.  The sound of dragons.

“I wish I were out there,” Bronn whispered.  “It would almost be worth dying for - to see them I mean.  I never really believed it was true.”

Another explosion, this one even closer, sent loose mortar tinkling down the stone walls of the cell.  Bronn and Jaime looked at one another, and Jaime could read the question in the sellsword’s black eyes.  “There is wildfire stored beneath the Red Keep,” Jaime said.

“I figured as much.”  Bronn shrugged.  “Let’s hope your little brother came up with a good battle plan for his Dragon Queen.  They need to finish it before your sister burns this whole fucking city to the ground.”

Hours went by and the battle raged on.  Jaime watched the door as the explosions got louder and the roars of the dragons got nearer.   _ Will you come to me at the end, sister?  Will you come crawling to my arms, and in the last moment of your life, will you seek forgiveness? _  But she never came, and then there was a deafening rumble of stones and wood collapsing onto each other, and Jaime knew it was over.  Part of the Red Keep had collapsed, and the silence that followed seemed to last forever.


	2. Queen's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV. Daenerys comes to King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!

 

**Queen’s Landing**

 

Viserion had taken a liking to him on the voyage across the Narrow Sea.  Tyrion thought it a touching irony that the dragon was the colors of House Lannister.  As they approached the mainland, he wondered what had become of his broken family.  All that remained were Jaime and Cersei - he knew that the children were gone now too, along with his Lord father.  He shivered in the cool morning air as the sun crested the blue horizon behind him.  Of all the awful things he had been named, kinslayer had been the worst of the lies, and once he had loosed the arrow into Tywin, it became true.

Daenerys joined him with Ser Barristan at her side.  Viserion swooped low, and Tyrion felt his hair rustle in the breeze churned up by the beast’s wings.

“He seems to like you,” Daenerys commented as she watched Drogon dive into the sea in the distance.  With a great splash, he plowed into the water most ungracefully, but came back up with a large, silver fish in his mouth.  He beat his enormous black wings, spraying the salty water from them, and flew up into the sky.  “Strange.  They haven’t been interested in anyone but their mother until now.”

“I am most honored, my Queen, if not slightly nervous.  I will be careful not to upset my new friend.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him.  “This is how Drogon behaved before he let me ride him.  I would allow it, if Viserion wishes it.”

Tyrion swallowed dryly.  The thought of launching up into the sky at the mercy of a dragon’s flighty temperament made him queasy.  “I will do as my Queen commands.”

“What is that island, Ser Barristan?”

“Tarth, my lady.  We will make landfall soon.”

“Tarth… it looks beautiful.  Who is lord there?”

“Lord Selwyn Tarth, my Queen.  The Evenstar, some call him.”

“Any heirs?”

Tyrion paused.  Brienne was his only living child.  He wondered what had become of her and his former squire.  He hoped his ax had served Pod well.  “One, a daughter.”

“This island could become a strategic stronghold for continued travel to and from Essos.  We shall demand his daughter as hostage once King’s Landing is secure.”

Tyrion struggled to suppress a smile, but failed.

“My Hand thinks I am funny, Ser Barristan.”

“My Queen, the Maid of Tarth would make an excellent hostage, if we could find her and capture her,” Tyrion said.

“I don’t understand.”

“The Maid of Tarth is a warrior.  She wears armor and carries a sword, and has bested some of more notable knights in the Seven Kingdoms.”   _ Including my brother, though Jaime would remind me that he had been bound at the wrists.   _ “But yes, she would be an excellent hostage if she still lives.”

Daenerys smiled.  “Your knights must not be very good, if a lady has a chance at beating them.”

Tyrion laughed then, unable to control it, as he pictured Jaime being hammered into submission by the hulking woman.  “The Maid of Tarth is tall as Ser Barristan, and near as strong.  What she lacks in brute strength, she makes up for in technique.  She is truly a formidable foe.”

A curious look passed over Daenerys’ face.  “Then I will have to make sure she does not become my enemy.”

 

An envoy appeared later in the day, paddled out to the bow of their ship in a tiny rowboat.  Cersei’s  warships remained hidden up the Blackwater Rush.  After the Dothraki hauled him aboard and checked him for weapons, Missandei walked gracefully across the deck to speak with him, while Daenerys waited on the upper deck with Tyrion and the others.  The dragons were hunting for lunch out in the bay, and Tyrion noted the way the envoy cringed every time one swooped close.  He did have to give the man credit for not cowering on the deck, though.

“He says Queen Cersei will not yield the city.  They have stores to withstand a siege for years,” Missandei told her when she returned to the upper deck.  “He says his queen promises to turn your dragons into pincushions if they come in range of her walls, and that Westeros is not afraid of a little girl, Targaryen or not.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened.  It was just as he had told Daenerys, though it did not make it any less dreadful.  Cersei would rather the city be destroyed than see it handed over to Daenerys.  He wondered if Jaime was at her side, trying to talk sense into her.  He hoped he was far away.  Even though surely his brother hated him, Tyrion could not stand the thought of Jaime dying in dragonfire.   _ Though you hate me now, I still love you - you were the only kindness in my life for a long time. _

“Tell him to tell this false queen that the Mother of Dragons will take this city with fire and blood.”

“Yes, my Queen.”  Missandei returned to the envoy, who then hastily climbed down to his rowboat, slipping and missing a few rungs on the way.

“What do you advise, my Hand?”

“The city is full of innocents.  Cersei would have you kill them all as she hides in the Red Keep.  It is not the way to start a reign.”

“Obviously.  What do we do about it.”

“Give the people a chance to escape.  They will see you as savior then, instead of conqueror.  Just as you did in Essos.  The smallfolk here are slaves too, just of a different kind.  Fear binds them, not chains.”

“Her Grace should use King’s Landing as an example to the rest of Westeros; they must see her dragons,” Yara Greyjoy said.

“Oh, they will.”  Tyrion looked up into the blue sky at Drogon, a black cloud that blocked the sun beneath him.  “I don’t know how they could miss them.”

 

That evening, in the cold of a King’s Landing winter night, Grey Worm and a handful of his Unsullied entered the city through the Mud Gate.  Tyrion had the few City Watch guards that were posted there bribed with gold and given a chance to leave the city before the dragons descended upon it.  Grey Worm and the rest slipped through the streets of Flea Bottom and around the smoking ruins of the Sept of Baelor.  They told the people that Mhysa was here, and she would take care of them.  The gates would be opened and all they had to do was leave.  Tyrion hoped they listened, elsewise damn would break upon a bloodbath.

 

When the sun rose the next day, the Unsullied marched on the city.  Daenerys climbed up on Drogon’s back and the great black beast beat its wings and carried her up into the sky.  Rhaegal flew off after them, and Viserion waited, staring at Tyrion with blood red eyes.

“What do you want?” Tyrion asked.  “Follow your mother.  Fly about, burn things, shoo.”

The dragon tilted its head to the side, like a dog, then extended its long neck out to him.

“Get on!” Daenerys shouted from Drogon who had swooped back around at her behest.  “Or will you break my child’s heart?”

“Bloody hells,” Tyrion muttered then flung himself haphazardly onto Viserion’s back, wrapping his short arms around its neck as best he could.  Viserion let out a blast of fire, then Drogon and Rhaegal followed suit, and all three dragons launched up into the sky.

The wind took his breath away, and he squinted to his eyes to keep them from watering.  Once his vision cleared, the ground was hundreds of feet below, and he was reminded of standing atop the wall with Jon Snow what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Tyrion and Viserion broke off from Drogon and Rhaegal and turned towards the Blackwater Rush.  As they flew lower, Tyrion saw the Dothraki horde on horseback, surrounding the city.  Daenerys did not want them in the city, and had sent in the Unsullied instead.  The Dothraki did not have experience in closed quarters combat, and she was afraid their horses would panic.

Without warning, Viserion dove in a spiral, straight down at the flagship of the Royal Navy.  Tyrion clutched onto the scaly neck as he fell towards the river in freefall.  Then, when the dragon pulled up, Tyrion’s body pressed into its back like he weighed a thousand pounds.  Crossbow quarrels whizzed past, but Viserion dodged them with ease, swooping and diving.  Then the dragon unleashed an inferno of white hot fire at the flagship.  The plume rolled from the dragon’s mouth, flashing off its glistening teeth, and crashed into the ship, igniting it instantly into a fiery hell.  Tyrion heard the screams of the sailors as Viserion rocketed back up into the sky.

Viserion continued meticulously dismantling the Royal Navy while the Unsullied and Daenerys brought King’s Landing to its knees.  When the last of the Royal Navy surrendered, only a handful of ships remained.  Viserion wheeled in the sky, screeching and roaring, then flew to the Red Keep.

Daenerys was in the throne room, and Viserion dropped in right through the ruined ceiling and landed on the stone floor before the Iron Throne.  Drogon and Rhaegal lay curled up behind the throne, and Daenerys sat perched upon it as if she was born to it.   _ Well, she was.  Beautiful and terrifying, just like Cersei, but there is something she has that Cersei lacks. _  Tyrion slid off Viserion’s back and approached the throne, then dropped to his knee.  “Your Grace, it is good to see you have found your ancestral seat.”

Daenerys sat tall and proud, but her eyes softened as they looked at him.  “Your sister would not surrender.”

“As I feared.”

“Her body is in the Blackwater, what is left of it.  Drogon burned her and her white cloaks as they launched barrels of wildfire at us.  She would not be taken alive.”

Tyrion pressed his lips and stared at the floor.  He was trying to decide how he felt.   _ Relieved _ .  But the white cloaks - he wondered if his brother’s charred remains bobbed up and down in the bay as well.  “My Queen, was my brother among those killed?”

“Perhaps.  I don’t know.”  Then she turned away from him.  “Lord Varys?”

“Yes, your Grace,” the bald man said as his feet whispered across the stones.  Although he had been on the other side of the throne room, he had heard their entire conversation.   _ Always the spider. _  “I’m sorry, my Lord Hand, but we were unable to identify the others, the burns were so severe.”

“My Unsullied and Dothraki will secure the city.  Grey Worm and Ser Barristan will stay by my side.  But I have an important job for you and Tyrion.”

“I am at your command, your Grace,” Tyrion said.

“Search the dungeons.  I want to know who is held here and if any can be of use to me.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Tyrion and Varys replied.  They bowed and left the throne room.

 

“Who do you think we will find in the cells, Lord Varys?  If I knew my sister at all, she burned anyone she believed her enemy in the Baelor’s Sept.”  They descended the slippery stairs into the dungeon.  Unsullied lined the corridors and torches blazed in the gloom, lighting the way.

“I do believe we will find someone of value down here,” Varys said in his unflappable way.  He stopped at the first cell and slid the peephole open.

“I’m afraid I’m too short to be of much help,” Tyrion said.  He was not tall enough to see inside.

“No one in here, anyway.  On to the next.”

Tyrion and Varys made their way through the dungeons, empty cell by empty cell.  Tyrion’s morbid suspicion was right - his sister had killed everyone.   _ The only good enemy is a dead enemy. _

They came to a dead end, and Tyrion noticed a cluster of Unsullied guarding one door in particular.

“Men, living,” one said and pointed to the cell.

Varys raised his meager eyebrows, then slid the peephole open.

_ Who would you have saved, Cersei?   _ And then it dawned on him, and his heart swelled in his chest.   _ Please let it be Jaime. _

“Lord Varys, I would have freshened up if I knew you were coming,” his brother’s horse voice croaked from inside the cell.

Varys stepped back and commanded the Unsullied to unbar the door.

When it groaned open, Jaime stood on the other side, stripped of armor and weapons, even his golden hand that Cersei loved so much was gone.  Jaime searched the hall, as if he knew Tyrion would be there, and locked eyes with him.  “Brother.  The Dragon Queen has taken the city?”

Tyrion nodded.  He knew what would come next, and there would be no easy way to say it.  Fortunately, Jaime said it for him.

“Cersei is dead, then.  She would never have yielded.”

Then another man appeared from the shadows, and Tyrion recognized Bronn as he came into the torchlight.   The sellsword clapped a hand on Jaime’s shoulder.  Then he looked at Tyrion.  “Great timing.  We just ran out of strong wine, and this one is not nearly as entertaining as you.”

Bronn stepped out of the cell and joined Varys in conversation as they walked out of the dungeon, a few Unsullied ghosting behind them.

“Now what on earth do those two have to talk about?” Jaime asked him flatly.

“I’m sorry, Jaime.  She would not yield.”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” he snapped, then Jaime clenched his jaw a few times, steadying his nerves, before he spoke again.  “I always thought we would die together, but the truth is, I lost her long ago.”  They walked in silence for a bit, then Jaime said in a lighter tone, “So, I’m sure you Dragon Queen has business with me.  Is it true you are her Hand?  I have a suspicion she may not like me very much.  I have a rather well-known nickname.”

Tyrion could usually read Jaime like a book, and today was no different.  He spoke true about Cersei, and he wondered what had happened between them since they had all last been together.  The children were dead, the last anchors of her sanity gone.  He wondered if Jaime had been able to grieve the loss of the children he had never been able to claim for his own.

“It is true, big brother.  I am Hand of the Queen, and I intend to make up for my wrongdoings by keeping your neck attached to the rest of your body.  Once the city is secure, the Dothraki will move into the Crownlands.  With dragons in the sky, I doubt any of the houses near here will hesitate to bend the knee.”  Tyrion stopped in the hallway before they ascended the stairs out of the dungeon.  “At any rate, it is good to see you alive, brother.”

“It is good to see you too.”

The Unsullied guard escorted Jaime to proper rooms, and Tyrion ordered that they feed and bathe him.  Bronn had disappeared with Varys, and Tyrion got the feeling that they were more familiar with each other than he would have guessed.

Later, Grey Worm found Tyrion strolling along the shoreline as he watched the dragons play at fighting in the sky.  They crashed into one another, biting and snapping, but never breathed fire.  It was a good thing it was play, because Drogon could have taken down both Rhaegal and Viserion with ease, he was still so much bigger.  Tyrion remembered the day he had crept into the pyramids, his heart in his throat as he contemplated just how long it would take to die from dragon fire.  The confinement had stunted their growth, no doubt - something Tyrion could relate to.

“Khaleesi wishes to speak with you about your brother,” Grey Worm said.  “She will receive you in the gardens.  I will take you there.”

“I know where the gardens are, Grey Worm.  You forget I lived here for years.”   _ I would like to forget it, too. _

Grey Worm nodded, indifferent.  “Khaleesi awaits.”

As Tyrion entered the gardens, it was apparent that they had not been spared from war.  Most everything was trampled, and some sections were charred into blackened ash.  It smelled like a smoldering campfire, and a few areas still smoked in their ruin.

He found Daenerys sitting amongst the most charred areas, tiny trails of smoke rising up behind her, and she looked every bit the Dragon Queen.  Her serving women had brushed her hair and dressed her in fine clothes, but she still wore those rugged boots beneath her skirts.  Never in his life had he felt loyalty such as this.  Never to his king, nor his lord father, nor even his brother.  Every time he saw Daenerys he wanted to kneel before her and feel her pin the hand sigil onto his chest again.

“Your Grace, you look radiant,” Tyrion said and bowed before her.

Daenerys arched a brow skeptically.  “You must want something, my Hand.  Please sit, you may not need to resort to flattery to save your brother’s life.”

Tyrion hoisted himself up into the chair next to her.  “These were beautiful gardens.  We can restore them to their former glory for you.”

“I much prefer them like this.  Handiwork of my children.  A mother always loves her children’s artwork.”  She smiled.  “Viserion let you ride.  What did you think of it?”

“Terrifying,” Tyrion said, and Daenerys laughed.

“Viserion has chosen you, and I command that you continue to ride.  It gets easier.”

Tyrion felt queasy, but nodded his assent.  “As you command, my Queen.”

“Your brother was in the black cells.  Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, is that right?”

Tyrion nodded.  “Yes, that is my brother.”

“He killed my father.  He was part of his King’s Guard, and he stabbed him in the back.”

“That is also true.”

“Why?”

Tyrion shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

“But you have your suspicions.”

“If I may speak freely, your Grace.”

“When do you not?”

“King Aerys was called the Mad King for a reason, and my brother was barely grown when he was named to the King’s Guard.  Jaime was young and idealistic, thrown into a world he could not have understood.  The horrors of King Aerys last years are rather well-documented.”

“Did you know your sister burned down the Sept of Baelor?  In their search of the city, the Unsullied found miles and miles of wildfire in the sewers.  They did not know what it was - we were lucky the Greyjoys were with them to identify it before their was an accident with a torch.”

“She’d been busy then, since I left.  It would take quite a few pyromancers to make that much wildfire in so short a time.”

“This wildfire was made many years ago.”

Tyrion’s mind started turning and Daenerys watched with a satisfied smirk on her face that she knew something that he did not.  “By King Aerys?”

“Yes, by my father.”

“He meant to burn the city down…” Tyrion said and his mouth hung agape.  “Jaime.  Gods, all these years, and he told no one.”

“You understand that giving him a quick death would in itself be a mercy.  But if he completes a certain task for me, I will let him keep his head a bit longer.  He must break a siege for me.”

Tyrion relaxed.  If Jaime was good at anything, it was warfare.  “He will not fail you.  But what siege do you speak of?  Is there still infighting amongst the Riverland lords?”

“No.  An army has surrounded Winterfell.”

_ Who lays siege to Winterfell?  _  The northern lords had all proclaimed Jon Snow as King in the North, the Boltons were vanquished, the Iron Islanders crippled and leaderless.

“Where in the Seven Kingdoms does this army come from?”

“They are not of the Seven Kingdoms.  They are an army of dead from beyond the wall.  Does your confidence waver?”

Tyrion’s palms were sweaty.  “No, my Queen.  Not at all.”


	3. Shadows of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV. This short chapter contains Ser Barristan canon-divergence.

**Shadows of Men**

 

The Dragon Queen was beautiful.  She had the violet blue eyes and lustrous blonde hair of a true Targaryen.  Her gown was simple blue silk which hugged her petite frame.  She was more womanly than Cersei, softer and less severe looking.  But beneath her silken skirts, she wore battered riding boots.  The Dothraki called her Khaleesi, the slaves called her Mhysa, and Tyrion called her Queen, which was the most shocking of all.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion bowed.  “My Brother, Ser Jaime of House Lannister.”

Jaime dropped to his knee and looked at the floor, as he had been instructed.  They had given him a bath and clean clothes, but no blade to shave with, and although he had a plush feather bed, he’d barely slept.  It seemed the very walls of the Red Keep moaned and groaned with the ghosts of the past.  At one point, he nearly asked his guards if they heard it too, but decided against it.

“Rise,” the Targaryen said.

Jaime stood up and took a quick glance around the small chamber.  They were high in the Tower of the Hand.  The room was square and windowless, lit by torches hung on the stone walls.  A silver tray of food and drink sat to the Queen’s left, and Ser Barristan Selmy stood guard at her right.  He was armed and armored, and looked just as formidable as when Jaime had last seen him.  He wanted to say something to Ser Barristan, about how it had been foolish of Joffrey to dismiss him, but he held his tongue.   _ More than likely, the old knight thinks me lower than the dirt on his boots. _

“The Lion of Lannister,” the Queen said, letting the words linger, as if savoring them.  “Kingslayer.  Cripple.”  The Queen watched him intently.

Tyrion cleared his throat.  “My Queen, if I may-”

But Daenerys raised her hand to silence him, but kept her eyes on Jaime.  “And... liberator of my Hand.”

He hoped if she meant to kill him, she would just be done with it.  Thoughts of Aerys torturing and burning his prisoners flittered through his mind.   _ No, this girl must be different.  She has to be, or everything that I’ve done will have been for nothing. _  He could not imagine that things would come full circle, with another mad Targaryen on the throne, decades after he killed both his king and his honor to be rid of the last one.  The walls moaned again, and Jaime shook his head, trying to clear it.

“What should I do with one such as you?”

The moaning grew louder still, and Jaime couldn’t think.  To his right, Tyrion’s head cocked to the side.  He heard it to.  A low rumble shook the floor beneath his boots.

“Jaime…” Tyrion said nervously.

Selmy unsheathed his sword and stood in front of his Queen.

The mortar and stone wall to the left crumbled as an monstrous man barreled through it, as if it were nothing more than a curtain.  Ser Robert Strong scanned the room like a mindless drone, and when he saw Daenerys, he charged for her and swung his greatsword as if it weighed no more than a child’s wooden sword.

Ser Barristan met his first strike, gripping his hilt with two hands, and managed to deflect the blow to the side.  Daenerys’ violet eyes went wide in her skull as she backed up into a corner, and Selmy fought to hold off Strong, but already Jaime could see that he was losing ground.

“Give my brother a blade!” Tyrion shouted desperately above the clash of steel and the labored grunts of Selmy.  “Give Jaime a blade!”

But Ser Barristan did not hear him.  He slashed and parried and finally connected with the monster of a man, slicing off his left arm in one powerful stroke that Jaime would not have thought him capable of.

Strong paused to look at his arm on the floor.  No blood spurted from the stump, only an oily black liquid.   Then he turned back to Selmy and resumed his assault, as if it was nothing more than a flesh wound.  He raised his greatsword and brought it down on Selmy in a sweeping arc that scraped the tip of the blade along the stone ceiling, sending sparks flying.

The swing hit true and drove the sword through Selmy’s left shoulder, slicing him all the way to his groin.  Ser Barristan was dead before he hit the stone floor.  Strong wheeled on Daenerys as his amputated arm lay smoldering on the floor, ignited by the sparks.

There was nothing barring Jaime from the door.  He could have run, maybe even escaped the city in the confusion, but instead he picked up Ser Barristan’s sword and charged with the same feeling of reckless freedom he’d had when he jumped into the bear pit at Harrenhal.

He slashed at Strong’s legs from behind, dropping him to his knees before the monster knew what hit him.  The sword only went halfway through, however, and Jaime strained to wrench it free from the meat of his calves.  In the corner of his eye, he saw Tyrion staring at the burning arm.  Strong turned his attention away from Daenerys, whirling to slice at Jaime’s head.  He ducked just in time, then blocked another blow.  Even with the creature on his knees, Jaime struggled.   _ I must take his head off. _

Then, Strong turned to look at Tyrion, who had a torch in his hand.  The fire flashed in the monster’s black, lifeless eyes.  Jaime took his chance and removed his head from his body in one smooth, backhanded swing.  It was not as graceful or as elegant as it would have been with his right hand, but it did the job.  Or so he thought.

Strong’s head tumbled to the floor, but his body kept moving, preparing to swing at him again, until Tyrion lit it aflame with the torch.  The body ignited as if it were soaked in oil and burned as quickly as dry grass.  Jaime watched it shrivel up into nothing before his eyes.

“My Queen!”  Tyrion ambled to Daenerys, who sat with blood splattered across her face and dress, unmoving.  “My Queen, are you alright?”

Daenerys used Tyrion’s shoulder to stand, and then she walked over to where Ser Barristan Selmy lay dead.  Jaime watched as she knelt down, sitting on her heels, and took his head into her lap.  She stroked his face and closed his eyes with her small hand.  Jaime felt as if he were intruding on a private moment, but he could not look away.  She leaned down and kissed the old man’s forehead, then pressed it to her own.  Blood soaked her hair and skirts, but she did not seem to care.  She was lost in a world of grief, and it was at that moment that Jaime realized that she was not her father.  Not at all.


	4. Siegebreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV - finally at Winterfell!

**Siegebreaker**

 

The day after Ser Barristan’s death, Jaime left for Winterfell.  A mix of Lannister forces and City Watch made up his fighting men, along with Theon Greyjoy.  He had knowledge of the lands and castle, and because of that it was deemed he might be useful, though Jaime was not convinced.  The Dragon Queen did not send any of her force with him, and that was fine - he knew these men, and he did not need the half-naked Dothraki on their desert horses trying to navigate the northern winter.  They would have been more burden than anything.

Currently, the company was making decent time up through the Neck, though Jaime felt they were traveling at a snail’s pace.  He wondered if anyone would be alive by the time they reached Winterfell, and said as much to Bronn.

Bronn shrugged next to him.  “If we go to fast, we might jar those barrels of wildfire.  I’d rather not die in a fiery fucking inferno, it that’s okay with you.  Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll have plenty of ale and women left by the time we get there.”  Bronn snorted, but then added seriously, “The Starks know how to ration, they could hold out for years.”

“Stark, you mean.  There is only one left.”  Jaime remembered the huge brood of Starks that had stood in the yard at Winterfell the last time he’d been there.  At the time, he’d thought it excessive, but now…   _ All of them gone, save one. _  He remembered being surprised that Sansa was even alive, but she had proved to be the last one standing.

“Math was never my strong suit, not enough killing involved,” Bronn said.  “Anyway, what did your little brother give you there?” He nodded to a few pouches hanging from Jaime’s saddle.  “Arbor Gold?”

“No, you wouldn’t want to drink what’s in there,” Jaime replied, and Bronn wrinkled up his face.

“Don’t think I want to know,” he said and spurred his horse to gallop on ahead.

Tyrion had come to him the morning of his departure with a few skins full of something.  When Jaime took them from him, they were much heavier than he had anticipated.

“What’s this?”

“A gift… I think you’ll like it.  You’ve always been one for showmanship.”

Jaime took the the cap off one and sniffed it.  “Ugh, gods, it smells like a dead cat rolled in wildfire.”  He coughed and recapped it.

Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine.  “This army of dead is supposed to have a weakness to fire, hence the hundreds of barrels of wildfire you will be dragging with you to Winterfell.  But I had a thought after the Robert Strong incident.  Why carry a torch and a sword when you could have a flaming sword instead?”

Images of Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword came to Jaime’s mind.  He’d never believed it was the fire gods that set the red priest’s sword ablaze.  Tyrion hadn’t either, and Jaime knew he took great pride in sussing out the science behind the supposed miracles of the gods.

“It’s not as much as I would have liked to send with you, but time was short.  Just grease up the blade and light it.  I mixed the wildfire with some stabilizing components and tallow to thicken it.  No explosions and it will burn for hours.”  Tyrion smiled proudly.  “You’re welcome.”

Jaime chuckled to himself at the memory.  And Tyrion was right, he could not wait to try it out.  Maybe he and Bronn would test it out tonight.

 

“Tyrion is a smart little bastard,” Bronn said in awe as he admired his flaming sword.  “How long’s this supposed to last?”

“A few hours,” Jaime said as he swung his own sword, watching the fire cut shapes into the night air.

“Wait til your Maid of Tarth sees this - she’s gonna want one of her own, after she’s done drenching her small clothes at the sight of you, that is.”  Bronn cocked an eyebrow at him, but then bristled at a sound in the woods.  They had moved a distance from camp and should have been alone, but there was something out there.

“Where?” Jaime muttered, and Bronn gestured to a dark grove of bushes just outside the clearing.

Jaime watched Bronn’s back as he reached into the bushes and pulled out a wrinkled old woman by the scruff of her tattered cloak.

“My lords, my lords, forgive me.  I saw the light and thought noblemen such as yourselves would have a scrap of food for an old grandmother.”

Jaime relaxed and sheathed his blade, extinguishing the flame in doing so as Bronn did the same.  “What is an old woman doing on the road in the middle of the night?” Jaime asked.  He felt bad for her.  She could barely stand on her own, and she was hunched and her eyes were rheumy - she looked nearly blind.

“Fleeing the winter, my lord, but my horse died two days back.”

“Well you are welcome to food.”   _ How much could one old woman eat? _  “But we are heading north, not south.”

The woman did not seem to care one way or the other.  Back at camp, she sat her withered bones down next to a cook fire and ate.  She never even mentioned the burning swords.   _ Must be blind. _

 

They picked up two children, orphans, but old enough to help about the camp, at the Bite.  Otherwise, they rest of the journey was uneventful.  As they neared Winterfell, Jaime sent out four scouts, only three of which came back.

“They are one thousand strong, Ser, but they just mill about the castle walls.  They’ve got no structure or leader, but they have numbers.”  The scout’s breath crystalised in the air the moment it left his mouth.  Ice coated his beard and his hair, as it did everyone’s, and it was colder than Jaime had ever thought possible.  He’d allowed fires at night, elsewise the soldiers would freeze, and even that did not take the bite out of the frigid air.

“Send the ravens.  Let Winterfell know we strike at dawn,” Jaime said.  They had best be ready.

Dawn never came.

“It’s the Long Night!” the old crone wailed from somewhere in the camp.

Bronn rolled his eyes, but Jaime felt the men becoming restless.

They waited a few hours, and once it became apparent that the sun would not be rising, Jaime gave the order to fire the trebuchets.

Hundreds of barrels of wildfire flew through the inky black sky.  The air hung thick with anticipation, and the silence was deafening.  Jaime held his breath, his greased blade at his side, and just when his chest began to tighten, the night lit up in a blazing green dawn.  He had to cover his eyes, and his horse startled beneath him.  In the green flash, he saw the fields around Winterfell covered in a sea of moving bodies, like ants covering a bit of food, moving as one.  Many were incinerated immediately, but more remained standing.  A third of them had been taken out, he estimated.  One of the orphans ran by with a torch and he held out his sword to touch it, and it ignited in his hand.  He hoped Tyrion was right as he kicked his destrier and led the charge.

In their initial wave, they tore through the mass of wights, cutting them down like wheat in a field.  Then he hacked and slashed as they swarmed around his horse.  The beast was a trained warhorse, but the undead made her skittish to the point where he could not control her.  “Fucking hells!” he yelled and with a sweeping slice that cleared the space around him, he dropped down onto the ground and slapped the horse away.   _ Run fast, girl, and do not stop. _

Wights exploded into fire around him, and all the training he had done with his left hand was paying off.  In the thick of battle, he found that final barrier fall away and he was able to fight without thinking - not as fast nor as powerful as he had once been, but it suddenly felt natural, the sword an extension of himself instead.

Bronn appeared at his right side and they fought together until he yelled “There!” and pointed to the gates of Winterfell.  Fighting men streamed out, maybe one hundred if Jaime had to guess.

“To the gates!” Jaime yelled, and Bronn moved through the ranks, rallying the men to move toward a common goal.  He needed to combine forces with the northerners, and he also wanted a clear line to the castle to move injured men inside.

They pushed closer and soon there were only a few lines of wights separating them from the northerners, and that’s when he saw her.

Brienne carried Oathkeeper in one hand and a torch in the other, and she moved like a dream, cutting down wights before her and burning them, with her great blue eyes alive with the heat of battle.  A mix of wildlings, northerners and Vale knights fought with her.  A ferocious wildling with a shock of red hair and a beard to match had her back, and Jaime would have been jealous if he’d had the time.  Then the final line of wights broke and they were next to each other, fighting side by side as the undead fell all around them.

Once the forces were joined, it was short work winning the battle.  Most of the wights burned, and some small groups disappeared into the forest.  There was no leader among them, no organization, just aimless grasping and clawing, so once their ranks were broken, they scattered.

A wild cheer went up as the last of the wights burned, and Bronn grabbed Jaime’s shoulders and shook him, their armor clanging together, then roared and moved on to slap a shaking boy on the back.  Jaime did the same, and the boy looked up to him like he was some god, and then a group of  men cleared and Brienne appeared before him.

They crashed together in a violent embrace, their blood up from battle, then pulled away, each with a hand around the other’s neck.  For a split moment Jaime’s could not move and just stared at her until she smiled and let out a screaming laugh and released him.  Her hair was wild and in a jostle of soldiers they moved away from one another.

He was happier than he ever remembered being, and high on battle lust, but he was still in command.  Ahead lay the grim task of finding the injured and giving the dead their honor.

Hours past and finally the field was clear as the dead burned in funeral pyre.  Jaime’s horse appeared at the edge of the field, and he smiled as he grabbed her reins and scratched her behind the ear.  “I don’t blame you, girl, but I don’t trust you anymore either.”

The horse looked at him as if to say that since he’d ridden her into a sea of the undead, the feeling was mutual.

He swung up into the saddle and trotted back to the castle.

Bronn met him at the gate.  “Good news, no one gives a shit about you here.”

Jaime slid off his horse.  “How refreshing.  So the King in the North will allow me within his walls?”

“For now, Kingslayer!” Jon Snow yelled from atop his horse as he galloped through the gate.  A giant white direwolf ghosted behind him.  He blazed past them, and didn’t give Jaime another look.

“See, told you,” Bronn said.

“Where’s Brienne?”

“She brought in some injured then went back out to look for Pod.  I’d go too, but I lost my horse.”

“Of course you did,” Jaime said as he wheeled his horse around.  “Don’t drink all the ale while I’m gone.”  Then he galloped back out the gate.

He’d been looking for nearly an hour when he realized how cold he was.  The adrenaline had worn off, and now he was freezing and his horse was not doing much better.  His torch guttered in his hand, and he would have to go back for a fresh one before long.  Then he saw a figure crest a hill.  It was Brienne; he could tell from the way she walked.  A torch was in her hand and she led her horse by the reins with a smaller figure slumped in the saddle.

Jaime kicked his horse and raced across the snow to her.

“How is he?” Jaime asked when he saw Pod crumpled atop her horse.

“Alive, but my horse is faltering.”  Her lips were blue and her eyelashes were crusted with ice.

“Gods, how long have you been out here?” Jaime asked as he helped her move Pod from her horse to his.  “I’ll bring your horse in.  Get on mine.  She sat the battle out, so she’s got fresh legs.”  His teeth chattered.

“I’m fine, just take Pod back.”

“Get on the fucking horse!  I will not be responsible for you freezing to death.  I’ll be right behind you.”

“But -”

“Get ON!”

Finally she did as he said.   _ That’s a first. _  Once she was seated with Pod in front of her, Jaime gave the horse a slap and she took off for the castle.

“I don’t know how you can stand her,” he said to Brienne’s half-frozen horse.  It would probably kill the beast to ride her in, so he trudged back to the castle through the snow, leading her by the reins.

Jaime passed through the gate, and the watchman closed it behind him; he was the last one expected to come through.  Looking around the yard, there were men from all over Westeros mingling together, talking about the battle, and moving towards the great hall from which the smell of food and the sound of music emanated.  It took him a few moments to spot Brienne, and when he did his mood changed.  She had her arm slung across the red-haired wilding’s shoulders and he was helping her into the castle.  His face must have said it all because when Bronne came up he furrowed his brow.

“Why the long face?”  Bronn turned to see what he was looking at.  “Ah… that's Tormund Giantsbane.  They say he fucks bears, and that he’s got a cock thrice the size of an average man.”  Bronn turned back to look at him.  “Nervous?  Don’t worry, I’m sure yours is much prettier.”


	5. The Halls of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for the feedback, it really makes my day! This chapter was difficult to write, but I decided to stop revising over and over and just post it :) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Up next will be a Tyrion POV followed by Brienne)

**The Halls of Winterfell**

 

 _Gods, I need food and a fire_ , Jaime thought.  But first he meant to find a room for himself and shed his armor.  A northerner who appeared to be in charge told him the eastern side of the keep was empty and he should find a place there.  Jaime had first choice of his room since the rest of the men were in the great hall celebrating.  It was a small room, but it had a large hearth and comfortable feather bed.  After he got a fire roaring, he dropped his armor and decided to check on Brienne.

When he found her, she was arguing.   _Shocking._  He leaned against the open doorframe to listen.

“You should rest, my lady,” a woman said as she cleaned then wrapped the knuckles on Brienne’s right hand.

“I am frozen to the bone, and in need of a bath.  I am going to the hot springs.”

“Fine, if you insist, but I will not have you fainting and cracking your head on the stones.  Mara!” the woman called, “Go with Lady Brienne and make sure she does not fall.”

A wisp of a girl scampered over.  She looked like she could barely lift a kettle onto the fire, let alone support the Maid of Tarth.

“I’ll take her,” Jaime said, making his presence known.

“Bloody hells, I will not faint.  I just want a bath.”

“Come on, we can talk about our valiant exploits on the field of battle,” Jaime said.  He nearly held out his arm for her to take, but thought better of it.

They made their way down though the castle and out into the Godswood, Brienne shivering the whole time.  The heart tree loomed over them with white, fingerlike branches and Jaime felt the carven eyes follow him across the snowy lawn.  “What happened to your hand?” he asked.  The pools steamed in the light of the torch he carried, looking inviting.

“I burned myself.”

Jaime stifled a laugh.

“What?  I had a torch in one hand and Oathkeeper in the other.  Not all of us were lucky enough to have a flaming sword.”  She shed her fur cloak. “How did you do that, by the way?”

He turned his back reflexively as Brienne undressed and slipped into the pool.  “Tyrion did it.  He made some kind of grease to put on the blade.”

“That’s quite clever.”  She let out a soft moan that made Jaime shift uncomfortably.  “Gods, I haven’t been this warm in months.”

“Have you fainted yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Good, between the two of us, I should be the only one allowed to faint in the tub.”

A little while later, a giant shadow passed across the sky, momentarily blocking the stars.  Jaime looked up in time to see Viserion let out a blast of fire and come to rest on the tower of the First Keep.

“What was that?” Brienne said, startled.  The heart tree blocked her view.

Jaime sighed.  “My brother.”  Perhaps the Dragon Queen had sent him to speak with Jon Snow.  Things must have been going well in King’s Landing for her to send away both her Hand and one of her dragons.  Anticipating Brienne’s string of questions, Jaime told her about Tyrion and all that had transpired with him.

When she finally rose to get out of the spring, the sound of water trickling down her body and back into the pool made his thoughts stray, unbidden, to how droplets had clung to her and made her skin glisten in another bath.  It seemed like a lifetime had come and gone since then, and he waited patiently as she dressed herself.  Once she was ready, they walked back to the castle.  They’d barely gotten out of the Godswood before she started shaking again.

“Come, you can have my room for the night.  You need to stay warm, and it just so happens that I started a fire before I came down.”

She grumbled, but otherwise did not raise a protest.

The room had warmed up, but the fire needed more wood.  He helped Brienne to sit on the edge of the bed and then set to work stoking the fire.  Behind him he heard Brienne’s boots thunk to the floor one at a time, then the rustling of fabric as she shed some layers of clothing and climbed into bed.

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” she said in a voice shaky from shivers.  “For what’s happened to you since we last spoke at Riverrun.”

He was grateful for the simplicity of her words.  “Thank you,” he replied, and stared into the fire for awhile in silence.

Then, Jaime sat in front of the fire with his feet propped up on a chair as they spoke of the battle, recounting each swing of their swords to each other.  Brienne told him of the state of Winterfell, of how Jon Snow had won it back with the help of the wildlings and the knights of the Vale.  Each word she spoke was punctuated with the chattering of her teeth, and when he peeked at her face tucked beneath the blankets, he could see she was pale and her lips were blue.  She was not well.

Finally, he stood with an exasperated huff, stripped his off his tunic and looked at her with irritated determination.

“What are you doing,” she said haltingly between shivers.

“I cannot listen to the chattering of your teeth any longer.  I am warming you up.”

“I do not need you to warm me up, I am -” she shivered again, “just fine.”

“Stop being so stubborn.  I can’t stand seeing you like this.  Trust me, it will help.”  Then, with an innocent smile, he added, “I swear your honor will remain unbesmirched.”

She rolled her eyes and wiggled over in the bed, and he slid under the blankets with her, lifting them as little as possible so as not to let in a draft.

“You’re like a bloody furnace!” she said in surprise as he scooted close to her.

“Well, I am very manly and strong.  What did you expect?”  He went to laugh, but it died in his throat as he moved up against her and realized she had not a stitch of clothing on.  He swallowed hard, trying to suppress his sudden arousal.   _Seven hells, woman._

He carefully arranged himself beside her with her back pressed against him.  He kept his hand and stump well away from her, up by his face.  That would have to be good enough as far as her honor was concerned.

After a while, her shivering subsided and she yawned into the pillow.  “I am much warmer,” she said begrudgingly.  “I suppose you were right.”

Jaime smirked.  “Well, thank you my lady.  I should really mark this down in the White Book.” _If it weren’t a pile of ash_.  “Ahem, ‘Today, Lady Brienne of Tarth deemed Ser Jaime Lannister correct in his notion that climbing into bed with her in a most unchivalrous fashion would indeed warm her up.’”

She jabbed him with her elbow, but her contented sigh as she curled up and fell asleep next to him tugged at his heart.  He’d broken a siege and battled an army of the undead, but now this small thing made him feel the most accomplished of all.   _I’ll just stay here a bit longer, no harm in that.  She needs to stay warm._  And that was the last thought he had for the evening.

 

He did not mean to fall asleep, but when he next opened his eyes, the fire had gone low.  Without the sun, he could not tell if it was day or night.  But that was the least of his problems.  During their sleep, Brienne had turned over in his arms to face him.  She had one long, bare leg slung over his hip and an arm draped around his waist.  The blankets had moved in the night and he could see her full nakedness - his eyes trailed down from her face, over her breasts, to wear the blanket lay precariously across her hip, and he felt a not unpleasant shiver run down his spine.  He had seen her naked before, but she had been angry and tense, ready to rip his throat out at Harrenhal.  She had been all taught muscle and bulging veins with a sneer on her face.  This was entirely different.  In sleep, everything was softened, and with muscles relaxed, a hint of a womanly shape beneath was allowed to show.   _Oh Gods, she is beautiful._ The the realization itself did not surprise him, just that it had taken him this long.   _I’ve missed her.  But she will kill me if she wakes up._

As if sensing his thoughts, she stirred and nuzzled against him, her small breasts pressing against his chest.  Her color had returned to her, and she seemed to be recovered from the night before.  Then a soft sigh escaped her lips, tickling the sensitive skin of his neck, and he thought he might not survive the torture of it all.  His cock was hard, and he thanked the old gods and the new that he still had his breeches on.  Logic told him he needed to get out of the precarious situation, but logic was more Tyrion’s department, so instead he ran a hand over her head, smoothing her tousled hair carefully so as not to wake her.  She was warm and comforting, and he would never dishonor her.  He figured he would just pretend to be asleep when she woke.

Then someone rapped on the door, hard, and Brienne’s eyes popped open and looked straight at him.  They both lay frozen in place, her face a wash of embarrassment and horror, and then a muffled voice called through the door.  

“Jaime?  It’s your little brother - you know, the short one.”  Jaime could tell Tyrion was nervous.  It was the only time he told poor jokes.  “I would speak with you.  It’s important.”

Brienne snatched herself away from him and curled up under the covers, like a turtle into its shell.  Jaime had to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of it all.  “Can this not wait?”

The door creaked open and Tyrion’s large head poked in halfway down the door frame.  “Please Jaime, I just-”  Tyrion frowned as he looked at him.  “Are you alright?”

Jaime’s voice cracked, and he would have punched himself if he hadn’t known Brienne would do it for him later.  “I’m fine,” he said, the second word an octave higher than usual.  “I just woke up.”

Tyrion smiled as he came in and closed the door behind him, mischief in his eyes..  All Jaime could hope for now was to keep secret who it was beneath his blankets.

“Are you sure?  You look flushed.  It’s not a fever, I hope?”  His eyes danced as he played the concerned brother.

Jaime shook his head as he felt a blush creep up his neck, heating his cheeks, and mouthed the words, _Please don’t._ Brienne was still as a statue, and he wondered if she dared to even breathe under there.  

Tyrion cocked his head to the side.  “Well, I wanted to talk to you about the smallfolk that arrived with you from the south.  Snow wants everyone within these walls accounted for… but it can wait for now.  I’ll see you in the great hall, once you are done blushing like a maid on her wedding night.”

Then Tyrion left, and as irritated as Jaime was, he knew it could have been worse.  Oddly, the verbal sparring session brought back feelings of endearment towards his little brother.  Tyrion always had a knack for wearing him down, as did Cersei.  Jaime was the most pliable of the three of them.

As soon as the door latched, Brienne groaned.  “Bloody hells.”  She did not come out from beneath the blankets, but rolled onto her side, cocooning herself in them.

“What’s wrong?  I slept great.”  Jaime stretched back on the bed with his arms behind his head.  “I would sleep like that every night.”  He let the words flow freely, nonchalantly, though there was a part of him that was serious.

Thwack!   _Ah, there’s the punch that was promised._

“I will not have you taunt me, Ser Jaime.”

 _Ser Jaime._ That’s how he knew he had pushed it far enough.  “I do no such thing.  We’ve slept next to each other before.”  He ruffled her head from on top of the blankets.  “And I think I am an excellent snuggler.  They train you in the Kingsguard, you know.”  He could not resist.

To his surprise, she started laughing.  When she poked her head out, her cheeks were pink and she was trying to catch her breath.  “This is utterly ridiculous.  I will see you in the practice yard, good day.”

Jaime was dressed and halfway down the hall with a idiotic grin on his face before he realized that she had kicked him out of his own room.

 

He met Tyrion in the great hall.  His younger brother had a crust of hard bread and cheese set out waiting for him, along with two mugs of ale.  His eyes lit up when he saw Jaime and he waved.  It reminded Jaime of when Tyrion was a small child.

“Good morning, little brother.”

“Good afternoon, actually.  Though it's hard to tell, what with the sun gone.  I’m sorry if I interrupted anything this morning.”

“No you’re not.”  Jaime ripped a chunk of bread off and washed it down with a gulp of ale.

“How did my wildfire grease work?”

“Better than I could have hoped.  You should have seen it,” Jaime said.  “Can you make more?  There are a few barrels of wildfire left.”

Tyrion’s face lit up.  “Of course.”  He took a swing from his mug.  “Now, about the smallfolk.”

Jaime leaned back in his chair. “We only picked up a few on the way.  An old woman at the Twins and two children near the Bite.”

“No one else?  Did you see a young woman with dark hair and red robes?”

Jaime shook his head.  “No.  The roads were deserted.  Why?”

“Snow sent a Red Priestess south.  He banished her for burning Stannis’ daughter at the stake.”

“Why in the seven hells would she do that?  Where was Stannis in all of this?”

“Oh, it’s ugly business.  Apparently he was there, as well as her lady mother.  The little girl was a sacrifice to the fire gods or some such nonsense.”

Jaime sipped his ale, already trying to forget the horrible tale.  “I never took Stannis for a religious fanatic.”

Tyrion took another drink of his own ale, then placed the mug on the tabletop, spinning it slowly between his stubby fingers.  “I killed father.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

Jaime could tell that was not the truth, but he couldn’t decide if he cared.  He’d told his own sister he would have killed her given the chance, and for that he was locked away in a cell during her hour of need.  She’d burned in dragonfire - no one had to tell him that, he just knew.  He knew in the way Tyrion had looked at him back in the Red Keep, with pity in his eyes.  Pity for him and for the sister who had despised Tyrion, her little brother, all his life.

“I’ll be in the practice yard,” Jaime said.

Tyrion nodded as he continued to stare at the table, spinning his mug.

 

It was bitterly cold in the yard, and except for the torches and a few fires, it was black as midnight.  Jaime had just begun to warm up with a few swings of his sword when Theon Greyjoy approached him.

“Ser Jaime, would you care to spar?  On the road here, you had offered…”

“Of course.”  Jaime still did not know what to make of Theon.  He had seemed cocksure and full of himself when Jaime had met him all those years ago.  Now he was timid and meek.  How would he be with a sword in his hand?

Competent, Jaime found out.  Apparently, the Bolton bastard had been unable to beat the boy’s talent with a blade out of him.  And if Jaime remembered correctly, Theon was even more skilled with a bow.

They parried and thrust across the practice yard.  Sweat trickled down Jaime’s temples and soaked his hair.  Theon did not make a sound.  He just moved quick and precise, staying one step ahead of Jaime, wearing him down.  Jaime was familiar with that tactic - it was what Brienne did to him.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her step into the yard.  With a sudden rush of energy, he brought Theon to his knees and had the tip of his sword at his neck.  Theon looked shocked, but nodded his head to him in acknowledgement of his defeat, auburn hair falling into his eyes.

Jaime nodded back.  “Well fought.”

“Thank you, Ser Jaime.”  Theon muttered, unable to make eye contact.

Theon might still be an asset in battle, but Jaime was not sure he would ever be able to function in normal society.  Whatever the bastard had done to him, it would take years of undoing to set the boy back to some semblance of right again.

He wiped the snow from his blunted tourney blade, then walked over to Brienne, who sat next to a fire, doting on Oathkeeper.  Her face was hard again, brow knitted and jaw set.  He could not imagine the sigh he heard this morning coming from her lips now.  Just the thought quickened his pulse, and he quickly pushed the moment from his mind.  “Haven’t you had enough swordplay for one lifetime?”

Brienne looked up at him, and something in his chest tighten.  Her expression was severe, but her eyes were soft and blue as the evening sky.   _Or sapphires_.  He held back a smile at the thought.

“You took care Theon Greyjoy quite efficiently.  You’ve been practicing with your left.”

“I have.  Would you do me the honor, Lady Brienne?”  Jaime gestured with his tourney sword.  “You would be more true a test than he.”  There was no jest in his voice.  He saw her mouth twitch - he knew just how to flatter her.

Brienne sheathed Oathkeeper, grabbed a blunted sword from the rack and stepped into the yard.  Snow crunched beneath her boots and snowflakes fell into her white blonde hair.  Jaime’s blood surged through his veins as he squared off to face her.  She swung first, then hung back as he charged at her, and she met strike after strike.  She was doing it to him, he knew it, wearing him out, but he couldn’t stop chasing her.  He brought her down to one knee with a well placed blow, but before he could swing again, she kicked his legs out from under him.  He grunted in surprise and tried to rolled back to his feet, but before he could catch his bearings, she barrelled into him, and he fell back into the snow.

“Gods, woman, you are persistant,” he growled, then rolled her onto her back and pinned her against the frozen earth.  For all her might, she could not overpower him hand-to-hand, not when he was at full strength.  He grimaced with difficulty as she struggled against him.  She grunted and managed to get one arm free only for him to straddle his leg across it to pin her back again.  Finally, she yielded.  Jaime got off her and she picked herself up.

“You’ve improved since our last spar,” she said.  Her cheeks were flushed, and she pushed her hair back from her face.

Jaime shrugged.  “Well, I’m not in shackles this time.”  He looked around the yard.  It was empty except for a few wildlings.  Tormund was among them, with his outrageous orange beard.  Jaime was pleased to note that Brienne paid him no mind.  “What will you be doing the rest of the day?”

“Lady Sansa wishes to speak with me, and then I should visit Pod.  He is still abed with his wounds, but they say he will recover.”

“Well, I will look for you at dinner tonight.  Tell Pod he fought bravely.”

“I will.”

Jaime left her to her obligations and returned to the practice yard.

 

He did not see her at dinner that night, so Jaime resigned himself to sit with Tyrion instead.  Tyrion, Hand of the Queen.  Jaime still could not believe it.  Never in a million years would he have guessed that his little brother would become the most trusted advisor to the last living Targaryen, let alone ride a dragon.  Viserion was it’s name, and it was red and gold, the colors of House Lannister.  It was the smallest of the three, which worked out well.  Jaime was not sure if Viserion could support the weight of a grown man.

“What is it like?” Jaime asked.

“Incredibly terrifying,” Tyrion replied.  “If the thing wasn’t so attached to me, I would have never climbed atop it.  I think it sees me as an equal, us both being small.  It’s strange, but I feel a connection with it when I ride.  I am not its master, make no mistake.  But there is something of a mutual respect.”

Jaime looked around the hall again as he finished his meal.  Maybe Brienne was keeping Pod company.  Gods knew she felt an obligation to the boy.

“Looking for someone, dear brother?” Tyrion asked innocently.  “Perhaps a particular serving wench to warm your bed again?  Or is it wildling company you keep?  I’ve heard great things.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.  “I’ll leave the wildlings to you.  I’m tired, and I should stop in by Podrick.”

“He seems in good spirits; I saw him earlier today.  Should be up and out of bed in the next few days.  I guess he will lose a couple of fingertips, though it should not affect his fighting technique.”

 

As Jaime approached Podrick’s room, he heard familiar laughter echoing down the hall.  The door was open when he got there and a fire roared in the hearth.  Brienne sat in front of the fire with the remnants of her dinner on a plate resting on her lap.  Podrick lay in bed with his head propped up and his left hand wrapped in bandages.  Jaime saw the right hand was not wrapped but the very tips of his ring and pinky finger were black with frostbite.

He leaned in the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest.  “Podrick Payne.”

Pod sat up straighter.  “Ser Jaime, it is good to see you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good, ser.  Just my fingertips ache, but I can’t complain.”  Pod glanced at Jaime’s stump, then looked away quickly, his face contorting with embarrassment.

“True, could be worse,” Jaime replied and gestured with his right arm in an attempt to put the boy at ease.

Brienne rose from her chair.  “Well, I should let you rest.  I expect you back in the yard soon.”

“What a cruel master you have, Pod,” Jaime chided then turned to follow Brienne from Pod’s room, closing the door behind him.

“He’s a resilient boy,” Jaime said as they strode down the dark hallway together.

Brienne nodded.  “He’ll be fine, and his fighting has come along quite nicely.”

“Good, I’m sure you are an excellent teacher.”

They were heading toward Jaime’s quarters.  “So, we have a king in the North and a queen in the South.  I’m not sure about you, but my bet’s on the one with the dragons.”

“Jon Snow does not want to rule the Seven Kingdoms, only the north, as the Starks did before the Conquest.  If the Dragon Queen is as benevolent as they say, she may concede the north.”

“Or name him Warden of the North.  And where does your Lady Sansa stand on all of this?”

“She supports Jon Snow as King,”

Jaime doubted it was as simple as that.

He hadn’t realized they were walking to his room until they were nearly there.  He walked in and knelt before the hearth to rebuild the fire.  She followed then handed him some kindling from the corner of the room and sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on her knees.  A thick silence hung in the air.

Once the fire blazed hot and red, Jaime stripped off his furs and tunic and let the heat soak into his skin.  Brienne moved near the fire and stood awkwardly on the opposite side of the hearth.  “It is late… I should return to my room.”

Jaime looked to her and their eyes met with an unspoken question.  Hers were dark like the ocean at night, and the firelight danced across the faded scars on her face.  He felt the need to hold her, to keep her warm and to wake up next to her in the morning.  If her limbs ended up tangled with his own, he’d consider that a bonus, but all he wanted was to be near to her.  He strode across the room to stand before her, and he heard her breath catch in her throat.  “Don’t go.”  He nearly reached out to touch her face, but he stopped when he realized he was reaching with his phantom hand.

She frowned at him, puzzled.  “Do you wish to speak to me about something?”

He shook his head and tried to backtrack.  “There are many strangers about the castle, and it is late.  I would have you stay here.  You’d be safer.”

“I’ve managed just fine without you so far,” she muttered, but to his surprise, she kicked her boots off and began to remove her furs and overclothes.  She stripped down until only a thin layer of linen clung to her skin, the firelight casting shadows across it as she basked in front of the warmth of the fire.

He swallowed, his throat dry, and something caught his eye.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, this time reaching out with his good hand to touch a dark purple scar on her shoulder.  She nearly trembled at his touch, then managed squared her jaw as she recalled the incident.  “Outlaws in the Riverlands.  They fell on me and Podrick.”  She shrugged.  “It should have been stitched but we had no thread.”

Jaime nodded and traced his fingers up along her neck.  She leaned into his touch, so imperceptibly that he thought he was imaging it, but kept her eyes on the fire.  He found another scar he did not recognize.  “And this one?”

“A wight.”  She turned to face him and gave him a look that was some strange mix of hope, confusion, and fear.

His hand moved to her face and cupped her jaw, then he smoothed his thumb over her cheek, touching the corner of her mouth.  Her breath caught in her throat as he trailed his hand back down to her shoulder.  He stepped to the side so her back was to him and continued tracing along her skin, finding a linear scar that ran down her shoulder blade, the length of it mostly hidden beneath the fabric of her underclothes.  She stood so close, he could feel the heat radiating off her.

“Jaime?” she said, barely a whisper.

“Where does this one go?  I need to inspect it properly.”

He slipped his hand beneath the fabric of her shift, trailing his fingers up her spine.  Then she lifted her arms and allowed him to slide the garment off over her head.  His hand returned to her now bare shoulder and continued the exploration of her back, sliding down along the scar.  A shiver ran through her.

“I’m sorry, are you ticklish?” he murmured and nuzzled his face into the back of her neck, letting his lips brush her skin tentatively.  Where he got the courage to do it, he did not know.

“I am not,” she said stubbornly.  She turned to face him, their bodies a hand's breadth apart.  He wrestled with his eyes, trying desperately to keep them on her face and not look down at her nakedness before him.  He put his hand around the nape of her neck.  It was a gentler, private version of how they had greeted one another after the battle, the emotion behind it just as strong.

“I will stay. Tonight,” she said finally.

“Then come to bed,” Jaime replied.  A little voice in the back of his head asked him what exactly was he planning on doing.  Truthfully, he had no idea; all the mattered was that she was staying.

He led her to the bed piled in furs and blankets and let her slide in before climbing in beside her.  He prayed he would not have to wait until morning for her to wrap herself around him, and he was not disappointed.  Her leg slid up over his and he reached over to pull her hips against his own, his hand caressing her firm backside, and he hummed a soft sound of pleasure.  She seemed encouraged by his response, and she relaxed her thighs apart, pulling him even closer.

“Brienne, I would do nothing you do not desire,” Jaime said, breathing heavily as their foreheads touched and their noses brushed one another.  She nodded and tilted her mouth to his.  Then their lips met, soft and unsure.  He moved his good hand to the back of her head and her lips parted, inviting him to explore it further.

He ran his tongue lightly along the tip of hers, and when she deepened the kiss, he moaned and pushed against her, feeling her nipples hard against his chest and his cock aching as it rubbed against her thigh.  He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, to fill her, to belong to her and to claim her as his own.  The thought of it threatened to tear him apart at the seams.  She’d been in his dreams since Harrenhal, his duty and oaths never allowing him to even consider it, and he would awaken alone and confused, but now...

The kiss broke and they lay on their sides facing one another.  He ran his hand down her arm, trailing it along her ribs and then around to the underside of one of her breasts as she watched, her breath quickening.  He cupped her creamy white breast, massaging it gently as she squirmed, and then she moaned softly as he reached the pert, pink nipple and took it between his fingertips.  He guided her to lay on her back, and continued to massage as he lowered his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss.  She bucked her hips up against his, desperate for contact, and he trailed his mouth down her neck to her collarbone and then to the side of her other breast.  He kissed the smooth skin, avoiding her nipple teasingly, until she raked both her hands through his hair, and he could not stand it anymore.  He ran his tongue across her nipple, then took it in his mouth and suckled on it, his mouth hot against the taut, pink bud.

“Jaime, oh gods, Jaime.  Please,” she begged.  He slid his hand from her breast, down between her legs.  She was hot and wet, and just knowing how much she wanted him made him nearly lose himself.  He groaned against her breast and slid his fingers around her entrance in a circular motion, then slipped one finger into her.  All he wanted now was to make her say his name again, to be the source of her pleasure, and he sat back on his knees and looked down at her flushed body.  Their eyes met, and he held her gaze as he lowered his mouth to find the small nub between her legs with the tip of his tongue.  She grabbed the frame of the bed behind her with one hand, the other tangled in the sheets as he licked and sucked and she writhed beneath him.  Then he slid another finger in, and she gasped and shuddered, and as she reached her climax, his name escaped her lips again.

“Oh gods, oh gods, Jaime.”

She pulled him back up to her, and breathlessly kissed him, then in a boldness he had seen on the battlefield but had never expected to see in bed, she slid one hand down to his cock, rubbing it through his breeches as her other hand undid his laces.  He squirmed his hips out, and then her hands were on his bare flesh, and he was nearly there.  His hips rocked in time with the rhythm of her hands and any other thoughts he may have had faded away until it was just Brienne.  He buried his face in her neck as he came forcefully, spurting his seed onto her stomach as waves of pleasure flowed through him and he momentarily lost his mind.

Her hands laced through his hair again, and he pressed his lips against her neck while slipping his breeches the rest of the way off.  He used them to clean her up hastily, then tossed the clothing onto the floor.  He kissed her forehead, her lips, her breasts, lazily exploring her body in a dreamlike state, and she watched him with dark eyes and quiet breath.  When he laid back, she pressed her body against his, and it was as if they were carved from the same stone, she fit so perfectly.

“Do you usually pray so much before bed?” Jaime asked teasingly as he took her hand in his and played with her fingers.

It took a moment for her to realize his joke, then she blushed deeply and turned her face into his shoulder.  “No,” she murmured against his skin.

He kissed the top of her head.  “I’m sorry, but you know I love to tease you.  I love to do all manner of things to you, it seems.  And for you to do them to me.”   _You love her, you idiot._  But he could not say that now - another time, when the remains of his pleasure weren’t still sticky on her belly and his half limp cock was not out for all the gods to see.


	6. The Morning-ish After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this, so I hope it is fun to read as well!!  
> Thank you again for feedback, it means a lot.

**The Morning-ish After**

 

It was the third day of darkness, mid afternoon for all it mattered, and Tyrion sat patiently waiting in the the council chambers of Winterfell.  At least he was trying to appear patient.  Jon Snow was late to their meeting, if the timekeeping devices Samwell Tarly had brought with him from Oldtown were to be trusted.

But Tyrion’s thoughts were elsewhere  He needed to check on Viserion.  The dragon had bedded down in the Godswood as soon as it had realized it was the warmest part of the castle.  No one ventured there now, except Tyrion, so the beast was completely reliant upon him for food.  The dragon would not even hunt, but Tyrion had a suspicion it was just being lazy and prefered its food delivered.   _ Another thing we have in common, _ he thought with a smirk.

Finally, Jon entered with Samwell Tarly and Tormund Giantsbane in tow.

Tyrion stood and tipped his head.  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”  He drew a blank as to how he should address each of them as.  Jon Snow was not quite his King, Tarly was not quite a maester, and Tormund was… well, Tormund.

“Tyrion,” Jon’s eyes danced.  “Pissed off the edge of the world lately?”

The men all took their seats.  Tormund eyed him suspiciously with one bushy red eyebrow raised.  Sam looked like he was about to burst with excitement, as if he had a secret he could not wait to tell.

“No, but I almost pissed off the Long Bridge in Volantis, but apparently that is frowned upon there.”  He turned to look at Sam.  “Is it Maester Tarly, now?”

“Erm, no.  Well yes, of a sort.”  Sam looked at Jon to clarify, but Snow just shrugged and moved on.

“Your Dragon Queen is quite brazen, sending both Theon Greyjoy the turncloak and the Kingslayer himself to Winterfell.  Does she mean to insult me, or does she send all her problems away like that, leaving them for others to deal with?”

“You misunderstand.  Her Grace only sent Greyjoy because of his knowledge of the land and castle.”

“And the Kingslayer?”

Tyrion pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully.  “Well, I suppose that was more my doing that hers.  Jaime saved my life, and he is my brother.  She sent him as a test of sorts, which I must say he passed with flying colors.  Or did you forget about that horde of undead that surrounded this castle not a week ago?”  His tongue was running away from him as usual.  He stopped himself short of pointing out that his brother earned his notorious nickname when he killed the man who had roasted Jon Snow’s grandfather in his own armor.

“I have not forgotten.  If I had, the Kingslayer would no longer be drawing breath.”

Tormund growled his agreement.   _ Interesting the wildling hates my brother already, he must take his cues from his King. _

“What does the Dragon Queen want?” Jon continued.

“She wants you to swear fealty to her, bend the knee, and rule as Warden of the North.”

“I will not do that.”

“I told her as much.”  He waited for Jon to say something, but the dark haired man remained silent.  “So... it seems we are at an impasse, then.”

“Actually, we do have some demands of her…” Samwell Tarly piped up in a happy, sing-song voice.

“Oh do you now?  Please, I’d  _ love _ to hear them,” Tyrion said dryly.

“We request her support in defending Westeros from the Others, and that she send whatever reinforcements she can spare, but most importantly, she must send her other two dragons.  Fire is the only thing that will kill a wight, which you have probably heard by now.”  Sam stopped to take a breath.

“Yes, but what good does a dragon do against the Others?  I’ve heard only obsidian can kill them.”

Sam’s face lit up.  “Ah, a fellow scholar, how exciting.  But yes, obsidian will be the key to defeating them.”

“And it is in short supply.”

“Well, in Westeros, yes it is.  But in my research in the library at the Citadel, I found something.  Accounts of lakes of rock, pure obsidian as far as the eye can see.”

“Where is this?”

“Old Valyria,” Sam said cheerily, proud of himself.

“Someone needs to go there and get it,” Jon Snow said and leaned on the table, looking pointedly at Tyrion.

“I’m sorry, you mean me?” Tyrion pointed a stubby finger at his chest.

“Aye, I mean you.  If you succeed and we win the Long Night,” Jon said, and paused as if the last words were stuck in his throat, “I will bend the knee to your dragon queen.”

Tyrion blanched and looked around the room for something to drink, anything.  He couldn’t go to Valyria, who did they think he was, some kind of seafaring pirate?

“Don’t worry, you won’t be going alone,” Sam peeped.  “I am coming with you.  It will be an adventure!”

Tyrion didn’t even bother to pour the wine into a goblet when he found it.  He put the spout to his lips and drank straight from the jug.

 

With that, their meeting was over, and the King in the North left Tyrion alone in the council chambers with only his own thoughts to steep in.  He trusted that Samwell Tarly’s research was correct, and it made sense that there would be obsidian in the smoking ruins of Valyria.  But why did he have to go?  The wine began to take its effect and he pushed his chair from the table.

He walked aimlessly around the castle.  He’d told himself no more heroics after the Blackwater, but this could ensure victory over the Others and peace in Westeros all in one fell swoop.  Then he smiled at a random servant walking past him and said, “Aha!  I know what you are doing you sneaky bastard!”  The servant ran away, disappearing like a little mouse running from a cat.  “You mean to test  _ me _ now.”  If Tyrion was willing to go to Valyria, the last place in the world that any sane man would want to go, all so Daenerys could be queen over the Seven Kingdoms, it would mean that Tyrion truly believed in her.  He supposed he should be flattered that Jon trusted his judgement.

A hulking shape appeared in the hallway ahead of him, absurdly tall with a shock of blond hair haphazardly strewn atop her head.  The Maid of Tarth.  Tyrion smiled, excited to meet the legend in person, but as she grew nearer, his excitement turned to apprehension.

She was bigger than he remembered, decked out in armor and chainmail, with her massive hand gripped on the hilt of her sword.   _ Jaime’s sword _ , he remembered.   _ Or was it hers now?  _  Tyrion never bothered to understand the nuances of knightly business.  Her eyes were piercing blue when they met his, and he managed to stammer out “Good afternoon, Lady Brienne.”

“Lord Tyrion,” she nodded to him with a scowl on her face, and he swore he felt his balls retreat up into his abdomen.   _ Gods, she is more terrifying than I remember.   _ She clomped past him towards to Godswood.  It must have been her shift on guard duty.  Of course they would assign the Maid of Tarth to guard the Godswood wall - the men wished to avoid Viserion at all costs.

The next face he ran across was a more welcoming sight.

“Too good to drink with me now, is that it?  Just because you ride a fucking dragon?”  Bronn stopped in the hallway and slung his thumbs into his belt.  “How much do you have to pay it to let a little lecherous fuck like you climb aboard?”  He grinned in his devilish way.

“It’s good to see you too.  I thought you’d be dead by now.”

Bronn shrugged.  “Aye, me too, but here I am.”

“What say we get a drink and catch up on lost time?”

“Well, that will have to wait.  I’m going wight-hunting.  I can’t get enough of that wildfire grease you came up with.”

“Tonight then.”

“Aye, tonight.  Oh -”  He looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot.  “And you better go check on our golden boy.”

“Jaime?”

Bronn nodded and raised his brows.  “He’s drunk.”

“Jaime’s drunk?”  Tyrion could not remember the last time he had seen his brother drunk, but maybe that was because Tyrion was usually the drunkest of everyone.

“He is.  Sitting down in the great hall all by his lonesome.  Foul mood too - women troubles, I think.  How a man who is rolling in pussy like himself could have women problems,” Bronn scoffed and shook his head.  “Anyway, figured I should tell you.”

_ Women troubles.  This should be interesting. _  Tyrion had been surprised to find Jaime with a woman in his bed, or two women, judging by the size of the pile of blankets.

Tyrion found Jaime sitting in front of the enormous hearth staring into the fire with a half empty mug of ale in his hand.  His eyes were bleary, and he did not turn to acknowledge Tyrion when he approached.

“I’m hurt.  For once in your life you decide to get piss drunk, and you don’t even invite me?”  He hoisted himself onto a seat next to him and told one of the serving girls to bring him a cup of wine.  “Is it… Cersei?” Tyrion asked, suddenly somber.

“Ugh, gods no.  By now, I’ve learned to silence the ghosts.”  Jaime leaned back in his chair and put his stump across his lap.  “I can’t even remember her as I once loved her.”

Tyrion swallowed dryly.   _ Where is the damned wine? _

The serving girl returned just as Jaime drained the last of his ale.  She gave Tyrion his wine, then refilled Jaime’s mug with a shy smile.  “Thank you,” Jaime said and gave her a groggy smile in return.  The girl blushed furiously and pattered away.  Tyrion rolled his eyes.

“What kind of women troubles could you possibly be having.”

“Oh gods,” he said and ran his stump over his hair, then chugged down his ale, emptying the mug in one swig.  Foam dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

“Jaime, tell me.  I daresay I have a gift when it comes to these things.”

Jaime laughed ruefully.  “Fine little brother, you want to hear it?  She barely touched me.”  His face crunched up with embarrassment.  “She barely touched me, and I came all over her belly like some green squire.”

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably - he could have done without that mental image.  He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but nothing came to him, and he pressed his lips back together.  He tried again but with the same result.

Jaime groaned, “Seven hells!”  He let his empty mug slip from his fingers and put his face in his hand.

Tyrion shook his head, trying to process.  “Is this a... common problem for you?” he asked tentatively.

Jaime shot him a glare from between his fingers.

“No? Alright then.  What do you care what some serving wench thinks of you?  If you're so concerned, I’ll throw her some coin to keep her quiet about it.  But if I’m not mistaken, if the girl were to say anything, it would only be to brag about how she got her hands on your golden cock.”  He hesitated to ask the next question.  “Did you at least… give the girl her pleasure?”

Jaime sighed.  “Yes, I think so.”

Tyrion was bewildered.  “You think so?  Jaime, who is this girl?”

Jaime finally dropped his hand from his face and looked at Tyrion, his face an uncomfortable mix of anguish and longing that he had never seen on his brother before.

“Brienne.”

“The  _ Maid of Tarth? _ !”  Tyrion choked on his wine.

“Shhh!” Jaime hissed.

“You did not take her maidenhead, did you?”

“No, of course not.”

Tyrion nodded.  “I would wonder how you were still alive if you told me you had.”

Jaime furrowed his brow.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.  It’s just that she is quite, ah… quite…”

“She’s perfect.”  Jaime sighed.

_ Seven save us, my brother is in love with the Maid of Tarth. _  “I think we need to drink more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV up next :)


	7. Dragonslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouraging feedback! I apologize for any typos, etc, as I wrote this quickly. I really wanted to get this chapter out :)

**Dragonslayer**

 

Brienne watched the land beyond the Godswood wall intently, the moonlight casting the snow-covered ground in a pale grey glow.  Her watch had been uneventful so far.  Once, she thought she had seen an intruder crossing a hilltop in the distance, but it had only been Jon Snow and his direwolf.  When Snow was not busy, he spent his time ranging beyond the castle walls with his white wolf.  Brienne thought it a strange, solitary behaviour for a man who had been named King in the North.  Her eyes followed him, unable to determine if man led beast or beast led man.   _ What are you doing out there?  What are you looking for? _  But that was not for her to know, so she remained at her post and continued her watch.

Her focus on the land before her helped her to forget the dragon behind her.  She had not protest when she was assigned to the Godswood, though many would have.  But, in truth, the dragon did not do much.  It rumbled around occasionally, snapping at birds or extending its sinewy wings like a stretching cat.  Once, it went over to a steaming hot spring and held its wings over it.  It made an odd clicking sound deep in its throat, and to Brienne, it sounded like a noise of contentment.

After a time, her thoughts inevitably went to Jaime.  She missed him, and she cursed herself for the stupidity of it all.  It was absurd.  They had spent months apart before, and now it had only been the span of a morning.

She had woken up first, her head a whirl of foggy confusion.  But when she saw Jaime’s arm draped across her hips she knew it had been no dream.  When she moved, he rubbed against her in his sleep, burrowing his face into the back of her neck and tightening his hold on her.  She wanted to stroke his face, kiss him, touch him, but she froze like a startled deer.  She never froze in the heat of battle, but this was different, like one wrong move would break the spell.  After extricating herself from his arms, she slipped from his room leaving him to sleep.

At breakfast that morning, she could have sworn the serving girls were looking at her differently.  They were all young, busty and petite compared to her, and she could not meet their taunting eyes.   _ They don’t know, they couldn’t.  You are imagining things. _  But it did not ease her mind.  Then, when she passed Tyrion in the hall on the way to her post, she was certain he knew.  Maybe he had put Jaime up to it, in some sick, twisted bet.  She knew all about bets, and she hardened her face as she walked past him to hide the pain she felt inside.

Her eyes scanned the desolate plain of snow as she paced the top of the castle wall, her hand on Oathkeeper.  Jaime would not do that to her, though.  He’d jumped into the pit, unarmed, to save her.  He’d been half alive himself, but that had not stopped him from trying to fight the bear with one hand.

Last night, he’d somehow been even more perfect than at Harrenhal, with strapping muscle instead of protruding ribs.  His warm, musky scent made her dizzy, and the feel of his stubbled face rubbing against her skin, her breasts, the private place between her thighs, made her shiver.  Her need to feel him had overcome her nervous embarrassment when she finally touched him in return, and her fear of being clumsy or doing something wrong was pushed aside by his groans of pleasure as he came.

Even now, just thinking about it made her nipples tingle and an exquisite ache blossom between her legs.  A hot flush crept over her and she glanced down the wall to make sure no one was looking at her.  There was no one, not a soul.

Then the dragon roared.

Brienne screamed and spun around with her sword drawn.  The sound was deafeningly close, and she imagined a wall of fire rolling toward her, engulfing her, incinerating her into nothing.  But the dragon was down in the Godswood still, hunched beneath the weirwood tree with its head bowed low to the ground.  It rumbled out a guttural cry, and Brienne squinted, trying to see what it was doing beneath the shadows of the tree.

It was looking at something, and it seemed transfixed on it.  A dark shape approached it, holding a burning red candle in its hand.  It was an old woman, hunched and shuffling, and then suddenly it wasn’t.  Brienne shook her head, trying to reconcile what she was seeing.   The old woman shed her robes and stood up straight.  Her grey spun hair turned to red waves cascading down her back, and her wrinkled body shifted into the full womanly shape of someone much younger.

It was the red witch, Melisandre, and she had a blade in her hand. The dragon clicked its tongue and cowed before her, as if hypnotized.

“No!” Brienne yelled, but her voice was lost in the icy wind.  She sprinted down the wall to the stone steps laid into it, and emerged into the Godswood just as Melisandre stabbed the knife into Viserion’s neck.

The dragon roared and blasted fire into the black sky, lighting up the walls of the castle as bright as a summer’s day.  Blood spurted from its neck and splashed into the snow covered ground, sizzled and steaming where it fell.

Brienne charged the red witch and tackled her to the ground, smashing the woman’s slim wrist down until she released the dagger.

“The Lord of Light needs his blood!” the woman mumbled, “Or we will never survive the Long Night.”

By now, people were flooding into the Godswood, though most stayed well back from Viserion as he crashed around, writhing in pain.

“Get the Maester!” Brienne yelled at them.  Viserion cried in the snow, each breath releasing a roll of fire from his gaping maw.  He was acting like a spooked horse, and if there was any chance of saving him, she had to get control of him.  She took a guardsman’s shield and left her sword in the snow so as not to scare the beast even more.  Then, slowly, she crept towards him, keeping herself hidden behind the shield.  Waves of heat cascaded over her as Viserion panicked, but they were weak breaths, and the shield was enough to protect her.  As she advanced, the frozen ground beneath her turned to mud from the heat.

Tyrion appeared at her side, placing a hand on her back as he followed her towards his dragon.

“Get me closer!” Tyrion yelled.

“I’m trying!”

“There, go to his neck,” Tyrion said, and finally he was close enough to reach out and touch the dragon’s scales.

Viserion looked at Tyrion as he pet the beast, calming him enough that the great head finally rested down in melted down beneath it, but blood still poured from his wound.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Samwell Tarly said as he appeared next to Tyrion.  “What’s happened?!” he asked in alarm.

“Oh good, the Maester Of-A-Sort is here,” Tyrion snapped at him.  “What does it look like, Tarly?”

“He’s been stabbed,” Sam said as he looked at the wound.  He reached out to touch it, then pulled his hands back with a cry.  “The blood is hot!”  He waved his hands around, trying to cool his burned fingers.

“Of course its bloody hot, its a fucking dragon!” Tyrion snarled.

“I’ve never worked on a dragon before,” Sam stammered.

“Oh, really?  Why I thought you would have, what with them being so common and all.”

“Get him some smith’s gloves!” Brienne yelled to the crowd gathered.  She held it up like an umbrella for the three of them to shelter beneath.  The wound was not as deep as it could have been, she thought.   _ But what do I know of dragons. _  Then the smith’s gloves arrived and Sam put them on and started fumbling in his kit nervously.

“I didn’t think it was possible to move this slowly,” Tyrion said harshly, but Brienne heard the fear in his voice.

“Quiet!” Jon Snow barked.  He stood on the perimeter with his direwolf.  “Let him work.”

Tyrion seemed to come to his senses and began helping Sam by handing him supplies and threading needles for him.

Brienne watched with a profound respect as Sam stitched the nicked artery closed with slow, deliberate movements.   _ Would that he had been there to stitch some of my wounds, they wouldn’t look half so bad.   _ Finally, the bleeding stopped and Sam put a bandage over the wound.

“There you are, big boy,” he said as he wiped the cold sweat from his brow.  “All better.”  Then Sam wobbled on his feet and fainted into Brienne’s arms.

Jaime appeared at her side, all business, as he grabbed Tarly under the arm to help her.

Jon Snow looked at Sam and he had to press his lips together to hide his smile.  “Take him to his room, he’s done his part.”

Brienne and Jaime began to carry the unconscious man toward the castle.  Then she remembered Melisandre.   _ Gods, did I let her escape? _  But as she spun her head around, she saw that the red woman was already in chains standing before Jon Snow.   _ At least they managed to apprehend her as they all stood gawking at us uselessly. _

“Come on,” Jaime huffed.  “The lad is heavy.”

Brienne nodded but watched as Melisandre pleaded before the King in the North.

“My king, you know as well as I that the Lord of Light needs his sacrifice.  Only blood will win the battle for the Long Night.  R’hllor needs a blood offering.”

“Aye, and he will have it,” Jon replied.

  
Jon Snow beheaded Melisandre, in the way of the North, and then her remains were burned in dragonfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the next chapter will be a continuation of Brienne's POV, but I wanted to end this one on that note.


	8. The Maester-Of-A-Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Brienne POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, I think I should have made this part of the previous chapter, but either way, here it is! I hope you enjoy; thank you so much for reading.

**The Maester-Of-A-Sort**

 

“Samwell.  Samwell, wake up!” Brienne shook him by the shoulders as she and Jaime stood at the bottom of the stairs supporting his dead weight.  “Sam!” she said once more and slapped his cheek lightly.  “Gods, he is out cold.  We are going to have to carry him up.”

“I’ll take the head, you take the feet,” Jaime said.

They rearranged themselves and began hoisting Sam up the stairs, one step at a time.  Brienne was thankful for the distraction, it kept her mind from roaming.  How Sam survived at Castle Black baffled Brienne.  She’d heard he had killed a white walker as well, and she wondered if he had fainted after that too.  But he was a talented Maester.

Jaime stumbled when they were about halfway up.  He was going backwards and his heel caught on a stone step.  “Slow down, or are you trying to crack my head open?”

“I can take his head if you’re tired,” Brienne grunted as she braced herself against the wall while Jaime got his feet back under him.

“I’m not tired.”

“Then stop complaining,” she huffed.

“Stop trying to trample me and I will.”

“Can we just get this done?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?  Dance with him?”

Their eyes met over Samwell’s lumpy form.  His look smoldered with anger, but it made the skin on the back of her neck prickle and her heart race even more than it already was.  She glared at him and forced herself to concentrate as they hauled Sam the rest of the way up in silence.

“Gods, the Maester is even heavier than he looks,” Jaime said as they flopped Sam onto his bed.  She bent over and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Jaime pulled Sam’s boots off and covered him with a blanket.  Soon, one of Sam’s assistants scurried into the room and began fussing over him.  He propped his head up on a few pillows and felt his pulse at his wrist.

“We’ll let you take it from here,” Jaime said and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Tell him he did good work, when he wakes,” Brienne said as she followed Jaime out of the room.

Once they were a distance down the hall, Jaime fell into step beside her.  “Are you alright?  You weren’t burned, were you?”  He looked her over with scrutiny.

“No, I’m fine,” she said and yawned.  “But I’m tired, I feel like I haven’t slept in days.”  Under his gaze, her body burned.  She wanted to climb into his bed, feel him between her legs, sleep in his arms.  She tried to get her bearings in the castle to figure out if that was where they were headed.   _Do you want me there again?  Or was it only some mistake in the night, and we will pretend it never happened?_

But then her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers brush against the back of her hand.  Then he caught her hand in his and laced his fingers through her own.  He stopped to face her.  Emotion overcame her, and she scrunched up her face in an effort to control it as he raised her hand to his lips and looked at her wonderingly.  His breath was hot against her hand, his mouth hovering over her skin.  She shuddered then looked at him, imploring him with her eyes to close the distance, giving him permission to touch her in that way.

His lips kissed her hand reverently, and she slid her other hand to the base of his neck and then his mouth was on hers.  There was no hesitation this time, and he slid his tongue into her mouth then pressed her back against the corridor wall.  Her armor clanked against the stone, but she barely heard it.  She was in another world, another place where it was just she and him and his tongue exploring her mouth.  Her hand traced his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath her fingertips, and when he moaned softly, her body ignited.  Then she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Jaime,” she said breathlessly.

He heard them too.  “Come on,” he said and took her around the corner, down a hall and then they were at his room.

Once the door was closed behind them, they resumed where they had left off.

“Take this armor off.  How am I supposed to properly pleasure you with all this steel in the way?”  He looked at her with taunting eyes as he began fumbling with the buckles of her breastplate.  She helped him take off the metal and chainmail, and then he crushed her against him, backing her over to the bed and laying her down on the cold furs.

She shivered, and he grinned at her.  “I can warm you up again if you like,” he murmured against her ear as he kissed the side of her neck.  He slid his hand beneath the linen of her tunic and she felt his fingers making their excruciatingly slow journey up her body.  Just as he drew close to her breasts, he slipped his hand behind her back and pulled her against him.  He kissed her and she returned it with urgent need.  Then he caressed one of her breasts and kissed the other through the fabric.  “Brienne,” he groaned, “Gods, let me see you.”

She let him slip the tunic up over her head and he stared down at her, drinking her in, and then lowering his mouth to kiss her breastbone, then wandering over to lavish attention on her nipples.  Her hips rocked up into his, and the friction was nearly too much.  She trusted Jaime with her life, but she also trusted him with her heart - and her body.  With him, all of her self consciousness faded away and she could lay naked before him and feel only love, not shame.   _Love._  He had stripped off her breeches while she was lost in thought, and the sensation of his warm tongue between her legs brought her back to the present and made her gasp.  When he slipped his fingers inside her, she cried out his name, but she needed something more.  She needed him, all of him.

“Jaime,” she panted, “Please, I want you.”

He kissed the inside of her thigh and smiled against her skin as his fingers continued to work.  “I believe you already have me,” he teased.

She sat up and pulled him to her, kissing him fervently as her hands when to his laces, and he suddenly understood.

“Are you sure, Brienne?” he huffed as she slid his breeches down.

She laid back and took his hips between her thighs.  The head of his cock pressed against her folds and he groaned.  “Gods, Brienne,” he rasped.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his ear.  “Please Jaime, yes.”

He pushed his hips forward tentatively while resting his forehead against her own.  The fullness of him startled her at first, but he kissed her lips as he lowered himself further into her.  She gasped and strained up against him, urging him to sheathe himself in her, desperate for that last corner of herself to be filled by him.  She felt something inside her give way, stretching with a pain that was momentary but real.   _My maidenhead.  I’ve given it to him.  It’s gone._  But she didn’t care - she would have had no one take it but Jaime.

“Jaime,” she breathed into his neck as he began to move in her, finding a rhythm.  Her hands slid over his back, down to his hips, and she began to rock in time with him, amazed that somehow her body knew what to do.

He leaned down on his right elbow as he continued to thrust into her, and freed his hand to slip down between her legs, massaging the small nub there.  The sensation was overwhelming, as he touched her from both inside and out.

“Oh gods, Jaime-” she cried out as everything suddenly came together and her body built up to a mind shattering climax that emanated from that very last corner of her body which he filled.  Waves of pleasure coursed through her, and she felt herself tightening around him and then he thrust against her roughly.  He came in her with a shudder, and she felt his seed inside her, mingling with her maiden’s blood.

He kissed her forehead as they both caught their breath.  “Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded and smoothed the hair from his face.

“Good,” he said and looked down at her with such a tenderness that she thought she might weep.  But then his eyes twinkled and he smiled at her, and she knew he was about say some joke to lighten the mood, but he didn’t.

“I love you,” he said easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and her entire world stopped.  The Others could have been storming the castle walls and she would not have known it.  Then he kissed her deeply, not even giving her a chance to respond.  Once the kiss broke, he rolled onto his side and spooned against her as he pulled the furs over them both.  He murmured contentedly into the back of her neck and whispered it one more time.

“I love you, Brienne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot resumes next :)


	9. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV

**Preparations**

 

Tyrion entered the great hall and was greeted by the smells of breakfast: hotcakes and eggs and bacon.  His mouth watered.  He hadn’t had a proper meal since Viserion was attacked.  He barely left the animal’s side, even sleeping in the Godswood to keep the beast calm.  Sam told him it was a good idea; the dragon needed to keep still so as not to rip the stitches out.

Just as he sat down at the end of a long table, one of Tarly’s men approached him.  “M’lord Tyrion, a raven for you.”  The boy handed him the parchment with a bow, then scurried away.

Tyrion broke the seal emblazoned with a three-headed dragon and rolled open the parchment just as Jaime strode over to sit at the table across from him.  He seemed quite pleased with himself.  Tyrion finished the sentence he was reading then looked up at him.

“Good morning, brother,” Jaime said as he dug into the food, heaping it from the trencher with his left hand.

“Good morning…” Tyrion replied, watching him with a suspicious eye.

Then Jaime looked up as the Maid of Tarth entered the great hall.  Jaime met her eyes and smiled, and Tyrion spun in his seat just in time to she her smile demurely as a blush crept over her cheeks.  The expression left Tyrion dumbfounded.   _ Has my brother tamed the Maid of Tarth? _

But just as quickly as it appeared, her smile faded, and she stalked across the room to take a seat by the hearth.   _ Not quite, then. _

Tyrion turned back to face Jaime and folded his hands on the table.  “You seem to have redeemed yourself.”

Jaime clenched his jaw and muttered, “Can we just forget we ever had that conversation?”

Tyrion grinned.  “I never forget anything.”

Jaime grumbled something then stared down at his plate as he ate.

Tyrion wanted to know more, so he began to prod.  Getting his brother angry had always been an excellent way to spur Jaime to speak.  “So what is the Maid of Tarth like beneath the furs?  Does she take her armor off, or do you both leave it on?  I can imagine that would be quite loud with all that metal banging together.”  To emphasize, he dinged his fork against the goblet before him.

Jaime’s face turned red and he glared at him.  “I will not have you talk so crudely about her.”  Then his eyes squinted.  “I know what you are trying to do, and it’s not going to work.”

“Will you marry her?” Tyrion asked plainly as he scanned the parchment.

“How can I answer that?  I don’t even know if she would have me.  She is the heir to a noble house, and I am…” He trailed off.  “I never thought I would marry.”

“And I never thought I would ride a dragon,” Tyrion said over a mouthful of bacon.  “Or go to Valyria, it seems.”

“Valyria?”

“Yes, my Queen has commanded it.”  He said with a flourish as he rolled up the parchment.

“Little brother, you are more loyal to her than I ever thought you capable of.”

Tyrion smiled ruefully.  “I’m full of surprises.”

“Well, my shift at guard starts soon.”  Jaime pushed himself away from the table.  “I will see you tonight and we can speak more then.”

Tyrion nodded and watched Jaime walk across the great hall.  He expected him to leave for the practice yard, but instead he slid in to sit next to the Maid of Tarth.  They spoke formally to each other, and kept their bodies a hand’s breadth apart, but then Tyrion saw Jaime slide his hand across her thigh beneath the table.  She gave him a sour look and elbowed him away.  It took a moment for Tyrion to realize what he was feeling - jealousy.

“That’s ridiculous,” Tyrion said to himself and scoffed into his goblet as he took a drink.  The woman was a giant and scared Tyrion more than anything.  But it wasn’t her, it was his brother.  He was jealous of the look his brother had on his face, and the happiness in his eyes.  The feeling of requited love was something that Tyrion had resigned himself to accept would never happen for him.

_ Let them have their happiness now, gods know nothing ever lasts in this world. _  He reread the parchment once more, just to be sure, and sighed.  “And we were just starting to mend the fence,” Tyrion muttered.  He wrapped some bacon in a cloth for Viserion, then slipped out of the great hall just as a parchment was delivered to the Maid of Tarth.  He felt like a coward, but did not want to be there when she read it.

The Godswood was quiet as usual, but Viserion did have a visitor.  Tarly was doting over the dragon and smiling nervously as he removed the bandages from the beast’s neck.  He lit up when he saw Tyrion approach.

“Hello, Lord Tyrion,” he said.  “You’ll be happy to know your dragon is healed.  The last of the scaled have hardened.”  Then he jumped back as Viserion swung his great red head toward Tyrion, sniffing intently.  “Whoa, big boy,” Sam stammered.

“He just smells the bacon,” Tyrion said as he fed the dragon the greasy strips of meat straight from his hand.  The dragon snipped it from his fingers as gentle as a kitten, then wolfed down the bacon, gnashing its teeth in a most excessive fashion.  “I suppose this means we will be leaving soon.”

“Yes, the sooner the better.  It will take some time to get there and back.  There is a boat chartered at White Harbor.  It will take us to Volantis, but no further.  No one wants to sail into the Smoking Sea, and rightfully so I’m afraid.”

“I have ten sworn swords that will accompany us, as well as one more,” Tyrion said.  “If we somehow manage to make it out of Valyria alive, we will sail to King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?  The Narrow Sea is faster than the King’s Road - we will need to get back to Winterfell without delay.”

“Dragons are faster than both, and they will deliver the obsidian to Winterfell.”

Sam nodded.  “Ah, yes, of course.  I guess I never thought of that.  Who else is coming with us, by the way?”

“The Maid of Tarth,” Tyrion said and grimaced.  He could only imagine what Jaime would say to him, and he was sure he would not have to imagine for long.

“Ah, how lovely!  She is quite the gifted swordsmen.  It will be nice to have female company - sometimes I think I get on better with women.”

Tyrion felt the sudden urge to be blackout drunk.  He left Sam in the Godswood with Viserion and went back into the castle.  He had preparations to make, so the wine would have to wait.

 

It was in the armory that Jaime finally found him, once his watch was over.  He strode over to him, eyes blazing with his jaw set so tight it was a surprise that his teeth were not ground into powder.

“Tell me this is not your doing, little brother,” he growled.

“It is not, I swear it, Jaime.  I would never have suggested it.”

“How does she even know who Brienne is?  I understand needing Tarth as a foothold, but Brienne hasn’t been there in years.”

“I may have mentioned her in passing...” Tyrion trailed off.  He had mentioned Brienne, though he could never have imagined that Daenerys would find her, let alone that Jaime would be in love with her.

“Daenerys has Brienne’s father at King’s Landing.  Brienne received a raven from him this morning saying that she must go to Valyria to ensure her family’s continued rule over Tarth.”

“Jaime, I’m sorry, but it is a reasonable thing.  The Queen must guarantee the loyalty of the houses, especially the house that controls an island that is a key stepping stone between Essos and Westeros.  I will not argue with the logic of it.”

“We need Brienne here to help hold the north.”

“We, or you?”  Tyrion questioned.

Jaime ran his hand through his hair.  “She is going - I did not even try to argue with her.  When she found out her father was a hostage, there was no question.”

Tyrion nodded.  “Alright.  We leave tomorrow for White Harbor.”  He wanted to tell Jaime the rest, but he couldn’t, his queen had commanded it.  Yet he felt the words bubbling up his throat, as if he had no control over his own voice.  He pressed his lips together.

“What is it?  Tell me, Tyrion.”

“Nothing.  I will bring her back to you.”   _ You must tell him.  He needs to know, or hasty decisions might be made. _  But his queen had forbade it, and somehow he held his tongue in his mouth.

Jaime’s swallowed dryly, then nodded to him and left the armory.

 

After taking inventory of all the provisions for the journey, Tyrion decided to retire to his room before dinner.  He was just rounding the corner when Lady Sansa appeared with Brienne at her side.

“Lord Tyrion,” she said and nodded to him.  “I came to wish you safe travels.”

_ Ah, my erstwhile wife.  You’ve been married, raped and widowed since the last time I saw you. _  But the girl seemed resilient enough.  “Thank you, Lady Sansa.  Lady Brienne,” he said and bowed to them, then excused himself.  He didn’t even wait to see what kind of awful look Brienne would give him.  He just wanted to be alone.


	10. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

**The Secret**

 

The great hall was full of music and the smells of food.  Torches hung on the walls and cast dancing firelight up the dark grey stone, and in the hearth a fire roared hot and full of life.  Jaime sat next to Brienne as they both picked at their food.  Brienne was trying to remain stoic, but Jaime could see the sadness in her eyes.

“You should eat,” he said gently.  “You’ll need strength for the journey, though if I know my little brother, he’s packed plenty of food and wine.”  The words fell flat the moment they left his mouth even though he was trying to be cheerful.

“I have to go, Jaime.  It is the only choice.  Even if my father were still safe on Tarth, how much longer do any of us have here?  The Others will come, and this obsidian will give us a chance.”

“I know.”  He needed to pull himself out of his misery.  He’d been apart from her before, and this was no different.  The journey would be a dangerous one, no doubt, but was there really anywhere left in the world that was safe?  “I know it’s early, but I’d love to take you to bed.”  He said it quietly so others wouldn’t hear, but his grin was hard to hide.

She suppressed a smile as a blush crept up her neck, and he thought how he would never get tired of seeing that.  “I… my blood is upon me.”

"That’s alright,” he said.  But it made him think of moon tea, and he wondered if she was drinking it, though it wouldn’t matter soon if she agreed to his proposal.

“Are you sure?”

He took her hand, right there in the middle of the great hall, with hundreds of sets of eyes around them.  “Come.”

 

Once they were safe in his room, he let her get herself ready for bed as he poked at the fire.  The flames licked at the poker stick as he aimlessly prodded the logs.  Water splashed in the wash basin and he heard fabric fall to the floor, and finally the rustling of furs that told him she was in bed.  Then he stripped off his own clothing and climbed in with her.

He slid one arm beneath her head and the other around her waist, and she leaned in and touched her nose to his cheek.  He kissed her and pulled her against him, and she slid one leg up over his knee.  “I will miss you,” he said as he used every ounce of his being to control the wavering emotion in his voice.

She sniffled against his cheek and he felt a warm tear against his skin.  “I will miss you too.”  And then both her arms wrapped around his neck and she shuddered, and he realized she was crying silently against him.  With her face pressed against the side of his own, tears wet his ear a neck, and he thought his heart was breaking apart.  “I love you, Jaime.”

He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her, willing away her tears and sadness, as if he could force the pain away with a touch.  She responded to him, grabbing his lower lip with her own and then they languidly played with each other’s tongues for what seemed like forever and no time at all.

They lay like that, soaking each other up, as he wiped away her tears and finally made her smile.

“I’ve defiled you from head to toe, and I feel like I should make an honest woman out of you before you leave me.”

“An honest woman?”  She laughed lightly, but he could see the hope in her eyes.

“Yes, I know you’re stubborn, but I thought perhaps I wore you down,” he smirked and grabbed her backside, pulling her against him.  She gave him a ornery look that melted away as his hand massaged the back of her thigh.

“Get some sleep,” he said and kissed her forehead.

She mumbled something against his chest, and he held her close until she fell asleep in his arms.

 

Jaime laid next to her until the fire went low, listening to her breath and feeling the warmth of her body against him.  His chest ached and never before had he felt such a precise, unyielding pain.  Losing his hand came close, but this was like losing his heart.

He slipped out of bed and returned to the great hall, wanting to find a bit of food and a drink quickly so he could return to her side.  There was no septon at Winterfell, so he planned to take her to the heart tree in the morning.  At least they would have that, and when she came back, it would be as his wife.

“Well, there he is!  Speak of the devil!” a brash voice yelled from infront of the hearth.  Bronn waved him over.  Jaime wasn’t in a particularly social mood, but he didn’t see that he had much of a choice.

“Jaime, my brother, sit with us,” Tyrion gestured to an empty chair.  “Serving wench!  My brother needs an ale!”  He drained his tankard.  “And so do I!”

“So, where’ve you been?” Bronn asked, but did not wait for an answer.  “I think I saw you drag Brienne out of here hours ago.  I always knew you wanted to fuck her.  Must have put in quite the effort - you’ve been gone a long time.”

“Hush, Bronn.  Gods, you are a crude bastard.  How is she, Jaime?  I feel terrible.”

“Really?  You don’t look it,” Jaime said.  “What time will you leave tomorrow? I have a favor to ask of you.”

Jaime could have sworn that Tyrion’s eyes began to glisten, and he saw the same look pass across his face that he had seen in the armory before, when he had thought Tyrion was going to tell him something of importance.  But the look was gone just as quick.  “We should be on the road by midday.”

After that, the conversation turned into a round of drunken stories, culminating in the time Bronn won the trial by combat for Tyrion at the Eyrie.  If Jaime had heard that story once, he had heard it a hundred times.  Finally, Bronn caught the eye of a serving girl and excused himself and they were alone.

Tyrion looked at Jaime with bleary eyes.  “I must say something, Jaime, but you must swear to tell no one.  I am breaking the queen’s confidence just by telling you.”

“What is it?”

Tyrion winced and took another drink, then exhaled loudly.  “If our mission goes well, and Brienne serves honorably, the queen means to offer her an appointment to her queensguard.”

Jaime scoffed.  That was ridiculous; Brienne would never take it.  “She will be a married woman by then.”

Tyrion nodded.  “I thought as much.  I just wanted you to know.  I wouldn’t want there to be any regrets on her part when the position is offered.”

Jaime sank back into his chair.  “What would she possibly have regrets about?  That she could not be used as a pawn in another ruler’s game?”  He thought of Aerys and his father, and himself stuck in the middle of their unspoken feud.  “Trust me, the honor of the kingsguard is short-lived.”

“That was a different king.”

Jaime’s head was starting to hurt.  All her life, Brienne had wanted to serve a just ruler.  Maybe Jaime’s stint in the kingsguard led to nothing but blood and oath breaking, but that did not mean the same would happen to her.

_ What if she regrets our marriage?  What if she is resentful or realizes she married a landless cripple?  What if I am what everyone says I am, and I take the chance for honor and glory away from her? _

“Jaime!” Tyrion’s voice broke into his thoughts.  “Jaime, you must not tell her.”

“How can I not?”

“You musn’t.  Even if you did, what do you think she would do?  Do you think any decision she made now would be logical?  With you settling between her thighs in the night?”

Jaime groaned and slammed his mug on a side table.  “I’m going to bed.  I’ll see you in the morning to send you off.”

He stalked out of the great hall, his mind spinning with images of his sword run through Aerys' back, of Daenerys cowering as Ser Barristan fought until his last breath to defend her, and of Brienne standing tall and proud in a shimmering white cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne POV up next!


	11. Another Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime/Brienne combo POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I promise the next one should follow shortly - its nearly complete already. We have some unexpected guests in our house and it has been a challenging week!

**Another Goodbye**

 

Brienne woke early the next morning with Jaime’s arms wrapped around her waist.  She burrowed into his chest, taking in his scent, the warmth of his body, the feel of his skin.  When she ran her hand along the stubble on his jaw, he opened his eyes and kissed her as he cradled her face in his hand.   _ This man desires me and loves me.   _ She still had a difficulty believing it at times, but he would marry her before she left, and she could think nothing else that would convince her more than that.

Jaime got up and dressed himself, and she watched from beneath the furs.  He was getting good at doing things with one hand, she noticed, as he laced and tied his breeches.  Then he sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on her hip, and in the next few moments, the dream broke apart.

“Brienne, I think we should wait until you return.”  He was having trouble meeting her eyes.  “I just… I don’t want you to make a hasty decision -”

She cut him off as she felt the chainmail rolling down over her heart, back where it belonged, protecting it.  “I understand,” she said properly.  “I would dress now, if you’d excuse me.”   _ Stupid girl, you are not meant for the marriage bed.  Perhaps in the dead of the Long Night he loves you, but marriage is too much to ask. _

“Brienne, I-” He was struggling to find the words.  “Please trust me.  The world has changed… there is much out there you have yet to see, and you may not know what you want.”

She clenched her jaw and shook her head, fighting back angry tears.  “ _ I _ may not know what  _ I _ want?  Forgive me, Ser Jaime, but I think it is the other way around.”

He grabbed her arm roughly through the furs.  “Brienne, nothing has changed.  Look at me,” he waited until she met his eyes.  They were fierce and full of pain, and she wondered how she had let this happen.  “Nothing has changed.  I love you.”  His voice hitched in his throat.  “I love you, and whether you come back to me here or not, I swear I will always love you.”

He pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers, willing her to feel his sincerity, but the fire was out and an icy grip had taken hold of her heart.  It brought back memories of the ball her father had held for her, of all the young suitors vying for her attention, and in the end it had all been a great game.  It hurt like that but one thousand fold.  It hurt even more because he said he loved her and always would, but something was stopping him from taking her as his wife.  Was he ashamed of her, or was he never planning on marrying anyone, and got caught up in the rush of it all?  He’d taken her maidenhead, and perhaps now he felt obligated.  His words echoed back,  _ I’ve defiled you from head to toe. _

He kissed her forehead in one last desperate gesture, of what she could not say, and then left her to dress.  The room was cold and she felt sick and weak as she pulled on her clothes and armor.  Oathkeeper lay in its scabbard on the table near the hearth.  She picked it up and drew the blade, looking at the beautiful Valyrian steel.   _ It’s yours, it will always be yours. _  She sheathed it and left the cold, empty room behind her.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Jaime stood in the yard as the group bound for Valyria packed their horses and checked their saddle straps one last time.  He had tried to help Brienne, but she’d given him such a deathly stare that he’d kept his distance after that.

“Jaime,” Tyrion said as he approached.  “I would ask you to ride with us to White Harbor, but Snow says you are needed here.”

“That’s probably for the best anyway,” Jaime said, never taking his eyes off Brienne.

“I sensed an extra frostiness in the air.  Things went poorly?”

Jaime shook his head, unsure of what to even say.  Then the red-haired wildling entered the yard, leading a horse that was already saddled and packed with supplies.  He met Jaime’s eyes and raised a bushy eyebrow in what Jaime felt was a ridiculous attempt at staring him down.  “ _ He’s _ going?” he muttered to Tyrion.

“He may be crude, but he is deadly.  He fights two-handed,” Tyrion said the last bit without thinking.  “Sorry,” he added, with a glance towards Jaime’s stump.

Jaime was only half listening as he watched Tormund and Brienne greet each other.  Tormund walked past her and they nodded to one another.  Brienne had an awkward look on her face.  Jaime clenched his jaw in irritation.  “Have a safe journey, little brother.”  He clapped Tyrion on the shoulder, then steeled his courage and went to Brienne.

She was fussing with a saddlebag and did not look up at him.  “Come to see me off?”

“Yes,” he said and waited for her to face him.  “If you will let me.”  Finally, he reached out and touched her arm, and she met his eyes.  They were cold and stoic, and somehow that hurt him more than if they had been full of tears.   _ She’s shut me out.   _ “Safe travels, Brienne.”

“Thank you. I pray the castle holds until we return.”

With that, she mounted her horse and trotted towards the amassing party at the gates.  Her hair and face glowed in the torchlight, and Jaime suddenly feared he would never get her back.   _ I don’t blame you, I hate myself for what I did to you, but I will not rob you of that choice, though I pray you don’t take it. _

As the party road out the gates, Brienne looked back one last time and raised her hand in a wave.  He waved back, and it reminded him of their other goodbyes.   _ She came back then, why should this time be any different? _  Then again, he was not even sure she was waving at him.


	12. Beyond the Narrow Sea

**Beyond the Narrow Sea**

 

For Brienne, the first night on the road to White Harbor was the loneliest.  The daylong ride had gone well enough.  She rode alone, enjoying the solitude and letting her mind wander in her own quiet thoughts.  Strangely, her mind roamed not to Jaime, but to Tarth.  She remembered her father’s deep set eyes, dark blue and smiling down at her.  It had been years since she had looked upon him, and she wondered how many more wrinkles now creased his face.   _How many of those wrinkles am I responsible for, Father?_  She smiled.  She thought of the rocky beaches, the summer sun on her skin, and the salt in her hair.  She even thought of her brother, Galladon.   _How different would my life be if you had lived?_ Very different, she imagined.  Galladon was big and tall for his age, just like herself, and he would have been a formidable knight, rivaling the greatest in the realm.  Men might have vied for her hand in an effort just to be close to Galladon, and unlike her, he would have been celebrated for his prowess, not mocked.   _Jaime never mocked me for my skill with a blade, not even in the beginning when we hated each other, and he taunted me at every turn._

When night fell, according to Sam’s timekeeping device, Brienne drew first watch with a Lannister sworn sword.  He was young, maybe fifteen years old.  When Brienne brought him a bowl of rabbit stew, he ate little and spoke even less.  That was well enough as far as she was concerned.  She’d done entirely too much talking in the past week.  And sighing, and moaning.   _Gods, I would slip back under the furs with him, even now._  She stopped her mind from wandering, focusing on a cluster of milky stars on the horizon.

Tormund and Sam relieved her.  The wilding still made her curious, with his flaming red hair and dancing eyes.  He looked at her like she was the finest woman west of the Narrow Sea, and he watched her intently when she practiced in the yard.  It was the first time in her life that a man had been openly attracted to her.  She let him smirk and eye her, but there would be nothing beyond that.

She crawled into her tent alone and burrowed into her bedroll, shivering and cold.  Her body longed for the heat of Jaime next to her, warm and comforting, and at the same time, her mind cursed her for missing him.  But she did miss him, she couldn’t deny it.  And in the morning, she could feel his arms around her, his lips against the back of her neck, murmuring contentedly to her, but only until she woke completely and opened her eyes to the reality that she was alone.

When they entered White Harbor, the town seemed untouched by the ravages of war.  The wide, cobblestone streets were clean and tidy, lined with whitewashed buildings.  As they approached the harbor, Tyrion stopped to speak to the dockmaster who lead them to their vessel.  They left the horses, trading them in for supplies for the voyage.  Brienne was sad to let her courser go, and she rubbed the horse behind the ears fondly.  The beast would be better off here, though.  Who knew what awaited them beyond the Narrow Sea.

After they boarded the ship, Tyrion approached her where she stood at the bow.

“My Lady Brienne, I have reserved private quarters for you.”

“I do not need them, Lord Tyrion.  I do not desire special treatment, and I will be much more comfortable sleeping among the rest of you.”

Tyrion nodded.  “As you wish, my lady.”  He regarded her with a discerning eye, as if seeing something in her for the first time, then left her as the ship passed Seal Rock, a stony outcropping swamped with the blubbery animals, and left the harbor.

 

The days and nights passed, one bleeding into the next until finally they saw a hint of the sun on the horizon, only for a few hours, but it was enough to brighten everyone’s mood.  Calm seas and mild weather favored their voyage, during which Brienne kept mostly to herself, until one night when she found herself alone with Tyrion and Sam.

“What is the Dragon Queen like?” Brienne asked as she honed Oathkeeper’s fine edge.  They were a fortnight into their journey, somewhere near the Isle of Lys.  A few days prior, she had tried to look upon Tarth, but they had passed it in the night.  The day-night cycle had returned somewhere around the Fingers by her guess.

“She intelligent, commanding, beautiful,” Tyrion’s eyes were focused somewhere far away.  “I would follow her to the Shadowlands and beyond.”

Brienne looked at Sam and arched an eyebrow.  “She sounds… impressive.  And you sound quite smitten.”

Tyrion shook his head.  “I love her as a subject loves his queen, as the plants love the sun.  She is born to rule, and I to serve her.”

“You seem to be a bit doey-eyed about her, though,” Sam chirped.  “I mean, I love King Jon, but not like that.”

Tyrion shook his head in irritation.  “Ultimately, it doesn’t even matter.  I have come to accept that I am not meant for the love of a woman.  I can pay for them to act the part, certainly, but nothing more.”

“I’d thought the same, until I met Gilly.  Now I am a married man with one son and another on the way.  What about you, Lady Brienne?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tyrion cringe.   _What about me?  I thought I knew once, and I put up my armor, only for Jaime to tear it down._ “I put away that silly dream the moment I left my father’s hall and took up a sword and shield.”  The Evenstar had let his only remaining child and heir run off to live the life of a knight, then of a kingsguard, he loved her so much.  Now, finally, she could repay him by keeping Tarth safe in the hands of her family and bringing honor to her house, and she would rely on no one but herself to do it.

“Well, I’ve had just about enough depressing conversation for one night.  Someone wake me when we’re in Volantis.”  Tyrion blew out the candle and rolled over in his cot.

That night, after the gentle rocking of the ship lulled her to sleep, she dreamed of Jaime.

 

_They were in the White Tower, together again in the office of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.  Jaime stood across from her, the massive oak desk between them.  He was resplendent in his golden lion armor, his hair cropped and his face freshly shaved.  Oathkeeper hung at his hip, which Brienne thought odd, and she looked down at her own sword and pulled it out.  It was Widow’s Wail, Jaime’s sword, the other half of Ice reforged._

_He leaned on the desk and read to her from the White Book._

_“Lady Brienne of Tarth, only living child of Lord Selwyn, the Evenstar.  Served in the king-claimant Renly Baratheon’s kingsguard until his untimely death, at which time she was accused and cleared of his murder.  Sworn sword of Catelyn Stark, fulfilling her oath to return Ser Jaime Lannister to King’s Landing and protect Lady Catelyn’s daughters.  Appointed to the Queensguard by Queen Daenerys Targaryen after the Great Battle for the Dawn.”_

_Brienne watched as Jaime looked up at her, full of admiration but also a hint of something else.  Envy?  No, perhaps sadness._

_“What will you do now?” he asked._

_She looked down at herself, dress all in white, then walked around the desk to face him._

_He stood uneasily before her, a tortured look on his face, until she reached out and traced the line of his jaw.  She felt the muscles of his face clench beneath her fingers.  Her heart pounded in her chest, and then he caught her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss her fingers, slowly and deliberately catching each one._

_Then their lips met in a fiery kiss, tongues dueling back and forth, each pressing for the advantage as he backed her up onto the desktop.  “Brienne, I would do nothing that you do not desire.”_

_Suddenly the room changed around them and they were back in Winterfell, beneath the furs and he was inside her.  “I love you, Brienne.”  She cried out as she climaxed and squeezed her thighs together._

 

And then she woke up, hot and sweaty in her cot, her body still clenching and pulsing with pleasure.  She looked around the ship’s hold, peering nervously from beneath the blankets, then slowly let her thighs relax apart.  The ship creaked around her as they moved across calm seas.  The air felt warm, and she wondered where they were.  She crept out of bed and climbed the stairs to the deck.

Tyrion stood on the port side, looking out on the ocean at a city looming on the horizon.  The night sky was clear, deep blue and speckled with stars.  Tyrion turned to greet her.

“I see I am not the only one who cannot sleep.”

“Is that Volantis?” she asked as she came to lean on the rail next to him.

“Yes.  We will be in port by morning.  From there, it is just a few days to the Smoking Sea.  I must send a message to the Queen to report our progress, maybe one to Winterfell as well…” he looked over at her pointedly.  “To Jaime,” he added when she did not react.

“Please make sure the Queen knows I am in your company, and if she could tell my father…”

“Of course.  Anything to Winterfell?”

Brienne could think of half a dozen things she would like to say to Jaime, but they were not appropriate for Tyrion’s ears for one reason or another.   _Jaime, gods why did I let this happen.  I cannot stop thinking about you.  And the dreams._  She could not decide if the dreams of intimacy were better or worse now that she had actually experienced the act with him.  She’d dreamed of being with him well before he had arrived at Winterfell, but now the dreams were so real.

“I have nothing to report to Lady Sansa or King Jon.”

Tyrion sighed and rolled his eyes, then turned to look at her with one elbow leaning on the second rung of the rail.  “You can drop the act with me, Brienne, formerly known as the Maid of Tarth.”

Brienne blushed and felt hot tears welling up, but she refused to let them fall.  “I have nothing to say to your brother, Tyrion.  What could I say?  I already feel like a fool, and surely anything else from my mouth will only compound that.”

To her surprise, Tyrion put a gentle hand on her wrist.  “My brother is nothing if he is not loyal to those he loves, my lady.  And he loves you, no matter what happens.”

“What is that supposed to mean?  He loves me even though I am gone and he is free to have any pretty serving wench he desires?”

“My brother?” Tyrion laughed mirthlessly.  “Women lust after him, no doubt, but he is only ever interested in the one he loves.  Shockingly, monogamy is one of my brother’s strong suits.  I suppose I could see myself being the same way, if I ever got the chance.”  He stopped talking then.  Perhaps he felt he’d revealed to much about his own self.

“He told me he wanted to marry me before I left,” Brienne said, feeling the words spill out of her unbidden.  “Then the next morning-” She paused as her voice hitched in her throat.  “In the light of day, he took it back.”

“Bloody hells, my lady, you need to get over this self-loathing.  You are tall and powerful and a gifted swordsmen.  I know many that would long to be you.”

“And they are all men, no doubt.  A woman would have to be a fool to want this lumbering body.”   _And you are not one to talk of self-loathing._

“I know of one, and she is no fool.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.”  Tyrion raised an eyebrow and leaned in conspiratorially.  “My Queen wishes she could wield a sword like you  - unlike her, you are not reliant upon anyone for your power, you simply are powerful.”

She had never thought of that before, and she was embarrassed to admit that his words made her stand a little taller.  “That is very kind of you, Lord Tyrion.  I hope to one day have a chance to meet your queen.”

“I will tell my brother you are well,” he said finally, in a voice that told her she shouldn’t argue with him.

_Tell him I hate him, I miss him, I love him._


	13. The Smoking Sea

**The Smoking Sea**

 

The journey into the Smoking Sea could not have gone more smoothly, in Tyrion’s opinion.  Then again, he was not the one who had to steer the ship through burning water and chunks of rock hard lava that floated in the ocean like the biggest icebergs in the Bay of Ice.  He also was not the one who had to fight off a band of pirates that tried to board their ship in the middle of the night - that had fallen to Brienne and the sworn swords.  She made easy work of them - they appeared to be more a group of desperate men than actual pirates by trade.

Once Sam realized that obsidian was literally floating all around them, they harvested the precious ore quickly and efficiently.  It took only one day to fill the empty spaces on the ship with the glistening black rock.

“Now to King’s Landing!” Sam squeaked triumphantly.  Tyrion saw Brienne give Sam a strange look, one of half-amusement and half-irritation, as she stood on the deck with her arms folded across her chest.

“Yes, now to home,” Tyrion said.  Viserion would be waiting for him in King’s Landing, ready to fly him on the next leg of the journey back to Winterfell.   _ Back to my queen, back to my dragon, and back to the only family I have left.  I hope to the gods the North still stands. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is incredibly short, but I have two more chapters to post tonight. I may work on this chapter again later and add more to it, but for right now, this is it. I'm sorry, but hopefully the next two chapters will make up for it!


	14. Daenerys Targaryen

**Daenerys Targaryen**

 

Brienne met Daenerys Targaryen in the solar of the Red Keep the afternoon of their arrival in the city.  The air in King’s Landing was cold, but the solar was warm as the sun still managed to make an appearance for a few hours a day.  The warm rays streamed in through the window panes and heated the room like a summer’s day.

“Your Grace,” Brienne said and bowed formally at the waist.  The glimpse she had gotten of the dragon queen left her wanting more, but she did not want to be rude and stare.  The queen was petite and womanly, with white blonde hair that hung to her waist and dazzling violet eyes.  Even in the dead of winter, she wore silks in the Mereenese fashion, but beneath the finery, Brienne caught a glimpse of battered riding boots, which left her curious.  And unlike Cersei before her, she did not comment on Brienne’s choice to bow rather than curtsey.

“Lady Brienne, please join me,” Daenerys said in a voice that was commanding but sweet, and gestured to a seat across from her.  Between them was a table with an assortment of wine and cheese laid out.  Tyrion helped himself to a glass of Arbor Gold. and Brienne politely declined when he offered her a glass.

“I trust you find your father well,” Daenerys said as she crossed her dainty ankles and leaned in towards her.

“Yes, your Grace.  I sincerely thank you for your hospitality.”  Brienne had seen her father in his chambers only an hour ago.  The rooms were finely appointed, the hearth roared, and her father said that the Maester had been in to see him multiple times to check on his rheumatism.  When her father looked upon her for the first time in years, his eyes welled with tears, and he took her into a crushing embrace.  She wondered what her father would think of all the things she had done.  When she had left his halls what felt like so long ago, it had been with delusions of knightly grandeur, of tournaments, of protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty.  The world had turned out to be much more complicated than that.  She had killed men, some evil, but others only petty thieves or brigands that had set upon her in the night, hoping to steal whatever they could from her if only to keep themselves and their families alive for a little while longer.

“Brienne,” her father said.  “My sweet daughter.  You have brought great honor to our house.  Mayhaps you were meant to be born a boy.  A father could not ask for a better son than you.”  Then he had swallowed, and he took a moment to steady himself.  “What I meant to say is that I could not ask for a better daughter.”

Brienne had cried in his arms them, this man who was so much older than the father she had known in her youth, but felt just as big and strong as ever with his thick arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders.   _ What would you think if I told you I had lost my womanly honor?  Would it negate everything I have done? _  There was no way he could know, and she would never tell him, but it made her wonder all the same.

“My Hand tells me you served in one of the false king’s personal guard?  And that he died in your arms?”  Daenerys said it without any hesitation, very matter-of-factly, as if she was talking about the weather.

“I… yes, your Grace.  King Renly was murdered in my presence.”

“Murdered by whom?”  She arched a thick eyebrow.

_ Gods, why must this haunt me wherever I go?  Is this how Jaime feels when people still call him Kingslayer?   _ “A shadow,” she said.  “Blood magic perpetrated by his own brother.”  The splatter of Stannis’ blood in the northern snow did nothing to ease the guilt and pain she still felt over Renly’s death.

“I know of the horror of blood magic.  I have seen it,” Daenerys said in a halting voice, and Brienne saw her involuntarily put a hand to her belly.  “I do not doubt you.”

Brienne cast her eyes to the ground and waited as a heavy silence lingered.  Then Daenerys took a drink of Tyrion’s wine and continued.  “I have a proposition for you.”

Brienne furrowed her brow and glanced at Tyrion, then back to Daenerys.  “What is this proposition?”  Her bewilderment must have been evident on her face, because Daenerys laughed.

“My Hand has not told you?  I did not think him capable of keeping such a secret.”  Then she turned to Tyrion, who looked uncomfortable.  “My Hand, you truly told no one?”

“Well, perhaps I mentioned it to my brother,” Tyrion said as he gazed intently at a stone in the wall.

“Told him what?” Brienne asked, her heart in her throat.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth, I would appoint you to my Queensguard.”  Daenerys looked upon her with a serious face but inquisitive eyes, as if she were gauging Brienne’s every facial twitch.

Brienne’s eyes glazed over, and her heart skipped a beat.  The Queensguard to a Targaryen.  The honor would be unmatched.  She thought of every snide remark and disgusting comment she had endured over the years - they would all be worth it, and she would be validated in the eyes of all the known world.  She could almost feel the white cloak draped across her shoulders.  Then she thought of her other oaths - oaths to Lady Sansa, to King Jon… and to Jaime.

Her face must have changed, because when she finally refocused on Daenerys, the queen was looking at Tyrion with a smirk on her face.  Tyrion only shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“I… I am honored, your Grace,” Brienne stammered.

“Yes, you are honored, but?  I may be unlucky in love, but I know a bit about it.  It is a rare and fragile thing, and I would not begrudge you if you chose to pursue it.”

“How do you know?” Brienne asked, but Tyrion’s uncomfortable expression gave her the answer.

Daenerys smiled and moved on.  “Someone must rule in Tarth, and you are your father’s only child.  What do you want, Lady Brienne?”

“I want to return to Winterfell, and defend the realm from the Others.”

Daenerys nodded.  “Very well.  We leave tomorrow, but we will be riding dragons.  You, Samwell, and the remainder of your party will have to travel by the Kingsroad.”

“Thank you your Grace, I am most humbled by your wisdom and kindness.”  Brienne bowed low and left the solar.  She was not even turned and out the door before she began processing everything that she had learned.   _ Jaime, gods, I am a fool, but not in the way I thought.  You knew, and would not take the choice from me.  Would that you had just told me, but then would I have ever truly considered it? _  No, it was the only thing he could do, and now all she could think about was returning to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got one more to post, just need to do a quick proofread. Thank you so much for reading!


	15. Fields of White and Red

**Fields of White and Red**

 

A month had passed since Brienne had left for Valyria when the Others attacked Winterfell.  Jaime existed in a limited world now, one filled with fighting until exhaustion, then eating food he did not even taste, then sleeping propped against a wall, still armed and armored.  He would be dead by now if it wasn’t for Bronn fighting at his side, day in and day out.  Somewhere along the way, their relationship had changed from a paid arrangement to a true friendship.

After cutting down a wight that had gotten behind Jaime, Bronn grinned at him.  “You are running up quite a tab, Lannister.  But I don’t expect you’ll be paying back debts any time soon.”  It was a small thing, but it made Jaime love the man for acknowledging it.

“Dragons!” Theon Greyjoy called one day.  Or was it night?  Jaime had no concept of time anymore.  He ran to the castle ramparts and saw not one, but three dragons soaring through the night sky, the big black one spraying fire from its mouth.  It swooped down over the sea of wights, laying waste to them with a tidal wave of flame.  Jaime saw the dragon queen on the beast’s back, and Tyrion upon Viserion.  For a moment, Jaime had an absurd thought of Brienne on Rhaegal.  In that instant, he felt her body pressed against his and her fingers running through his hair, but then it was gone, and he forced himself back into the present.  Brienne was not with them.

Tyrion came through with the obsidian, and the Winterfell smiths immediately got to work fashioning blades and arrow points out of it.  Theon Greyjoy watched the arrow tips with great interest, and as soon as one was done, he set to work diligently crafting tips to the shafts, filling his quiver.

“For you, big brother,” Tyrion said and handed Jaime an obsidian dagger.  “Just in case.”

“Thank you,” Jaime said and strapped the blade to his leg one-handed.  Jaime’s sword was Valyrian steel, which should have been enough, and if he was whole, he would have turned down the dagger, but things were different with one hand.

“Impressive - you’ve become quite dexterous with your left,” Tyrion commented as he watched.  “I would regale you with the tales of my bravery and intelligence,” he said, referencing his journey, “But there will be time enough for that later.”  Viserion crunched his claws into the stones of the castle wall impatiently, waiting to go back out into the fray.  “And I think there is only one thing you want to know.”

“Did she take the white cloak?” Jaime asked as every muscle in his body tensed, bracing for the answer.

“She did not,” Tyrion said airily as he scrambled onto his dragon.  “I’ll see you on the field, brother!”  Jaime could tell Tyrion relished the statement.  Tyrion could never have imagined that he would be one thousand times the asset than Jaime in battle.  And with that, Tyrion’s dragon lifted up into the sky, hot waves of heat rolling off the leathery wings and hitting Jaime in the face, making his eyes burn.

The world was quiet around him, and he gripped the hilt of Widow’s Wail tightly in his good hand.   _She's coming back._

“Ready for more?”  Bronn asked as he strode over to him.  “Or do you need some time alone to go jerk yourself off?  Gods, that must be an ugly sight if it's anything like watching you _fight_ with your left.”

“Let’s go,” Jaime said, and they left with next wave of men from the Winterfell gates.

 

The men fought with renewed energy, and sometime in the next few hours, the tide of battle turned.  Wights burned by the hundreds with each pass of a dragon, and the white walkers fell beneath the obsidian blades as easily as a normal man of flesh and blood.  Jaime focused only on what was in front of him, cutting down Others while Bronn took care of the wights with his flaming wildfire sword.

Occasionally, Jaime would see Theon Greyjoy fly past him.  He fought like a man possessed, felling Others with his obsidian arrows, moving and aiming like a machine.  He was so fast, he had multiple arrows in the air at once, knocking and loosing the next before the prior had even hit its target.  Then he would move forward, pull the arrows from the shattered bodies, and repeat the process.

Then, something happened - Jaime and Bronn found themselves cut off from their group, with wights before them and Others behind.  Jaime fought off the Others as best he could while Bronn cut down the wights.  Then Bronn fell at Jaime’s feet and an Other was on top of him, but Jaime was still fending off those in front of him.  There was nothing he could do but keep swinging.  Then, he felt Bronn grab the dagger from the sheath at his ankle and slam the tip into the monster’s eye.

Jaime helped Bronn to his feet.  “Nice of the little prick to give you a dagger and not me.  Fucking cunt.  You Lannisters think of no one but yourselves,” Bronn said in his usual tone of endearing disrespect.  “Well, come on, but if you don’t mind, I’ll hold on to the dagger.  You’ve only got one hand after all, why do you need to blades?”

Then Theon ran past Jaime, eyes set on a white walker in the distance who appeared to be leading the charge.  “Where the hell does he think he’s going?” Jaime mumbled.

“He’s a crazy little fuck.” Bronn replied, then took off after Theon.  Jaime had no choice but to follow.

Theon laid down a spray of arrows, unaware that anyone was even behind him, and suddenly they were upon the white walker.  He sat atop a rotting horse.  Its mangy coat dripped from its pale white bones and its eyes rolled in its sockets when it saw Bronn’s flaming sword.  Theon loaded the horse full of arrows, and it bucked off its rider, leaving the walker standing in the snow with a sword in each hand.  Its eyes glowed icy blue and its body was muscular and sharp, as if it was carved from the ice itself.  It let out an unearthly roar, and then attacked.  Theon held his own, fighting with such energy and vigor that Jaime had trouble even helping him out.  Jaime parried a few blows, but one struck his sword true and sent a frigid rattle up his arm.  The nerves in his arm exploded in pain, his hand froze, and he dropped his blade.  But it did not matter.  Theon drove his obsidian sword into the monster’s chest, all the way to the hilt, and in one last dying move, the walker grabbed Theon’s head and twisted it, snapping his neck, then its arms disintegrated.

Jaime lay panting on the ground, holding his injured arm to his chest with the stump of the other.  Bronn was chopping down a few last wights, then turned and saw Theon.  Then he looked to Jaime.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I think so, but my arm is numb.”

Bronn looked at him with an uncharacteristic concern, and Jaime realized that his arm was pale white and cold to the touch.

“Come on, let’s get you back," he said and hauled Jaime to his feet.

“Shouldn’t we…?” Jaime said, looking to where Theon lay with both his spine and his face up towards the dark sky.

“There will be time for the dead.  Right now, we better take care of that arm.  It’s the only one you have.”

 

“We need a Maester,” said one of Sam’s assistants as he looked at Jaime’s arm.  “I don’t understand what's happened.  It’s like frostbite - how did this happen?”  He was panicky and wringing his hands together.

Tyrion stood at Jaime’s side supervising, and Bronn hung back in the shadows with his arms folded across his chest.

“I told you, I don’t know.  His sword must have done it.” Jaime winced.

The assistant fumbled with some supplies from his kit, sighed in exasperation, then repeated himself.  “We need a Maester.”

“Well there's no bloody Maester here, so you’re going to have to do the best you fucking can,” Tyrion snapped.

Then Sam burst into the room.  “I’m here!  I’m here.  We just arrived.”  He was breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his brow.  “I see we missed the battle.  I can’t say I’m disappointed, but-”

“Sam,” Jaime said through clenched teeth.  “Please, just look at my arm.”

“Oh, yes, Ser Jaime.  By the Seven, what happened to you?”

Jaime threw his head back on the cot and growled between his teeth.  Then he caught sight of Brienne in the doorway.  It had not even occurred to him that she would also be back.  Their eyes met and suddenly nothing else mattered.  He couldn’t feel Sam manipulating his arm, or hear Tyrion berating Sam in his panic, or even see anyone else’s face but hers.   _Is she real?  She should be - I’ve taken no milk of the poppy.  Then why does she look so much like a dream?_

“Jaime!  Jaime!” Tyrion was shaking his shoulders.  “Stay with us.  Your eyes are rolling back into your head.”  Then Tyrion glanced to the door and saw who Jaime was looking at.  “Oh.”

“Ahah!  I know what this is.  It’s called Swordbite!  Sometimes when a white walker-”

“No one cares.  Just fix it,” Bronn piped up from the corner.

“Ah, yes, right.”  Sam conferred with his assistant and soon they were rubbing a foul-smelling cream on Jaime’s arm and wrapping it in bandages that had boiled in some concoction in a kettle over the fire.  Jaime winced as they wrapped the scalding fabric around his arm, but the pain was momentary, and then his arm was numb.

“I hope you know what you are doing, Sam.” Jaime said with a weak smile, then added, “Thank you.”

“Let’s get him to his room,” Tyrion commanded.

Before anyone else could act, Brienne finally spoke from the doorway in her deep voice.  “I will take him.”

Only Bronn gave them a look as she guided him from the room, his right arm slung over her shoulders.  He thought it was funny in some macabre way that the arm with no hand was now “the good one.”

They made it up the stairs together, and once they were in his room, she laid him back on the bed and carefully propped his bandaged arm up on some blankets in silence.  He laid there and watched her, studying the planes of her face, the smooth, broad expanse of her forehead, which was wrinkled in concentration, and the curious pout of her lips which he had never fully appreciated before.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said finally.

“I know,” she replied.  Her back was to him as she knelt to build the fire.

“I could not make that decision for you.”

She was quiet for a time, poking at the licking flames.  The firelight cast shapes across the stonework, and Brienne’s shadow looked like that of a giant as it stretched across the floor.

“I missed you,” she finally said in a halting voice that made his heart ache.

“Then come over here, you stubborn woman.  I missed you too,” and he gave her a smirk when she turned to face him.  “But leave your clothes there.”

A blush crept up her neck and made her cheeks rosy, and Jaime thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.  Then she began to undress, shedding armor and mail and hanging Oathkeeper on a hook near the hearth.

“Don’t stop there,” Jaime said.

She gave him a look so sultry he would not have thought her capable of it.  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

She slipped one long leg from her breeches, and then the other, and Jaime felt his breath quicken and his heart race.  He watched her with wide eyes, as she moved across the room to drape the clothing over the back of a chair, and he could not keep his eyes off her perfectly muscled legs and her firm backside flexing in the firelight.  He had never seen her like this before, and he drank in every moment.  Then she removed her tunic with her back to him.  Her skin was pale and smooth, and even with the structure of her muscles, her waist nipped in above the curve of her hips in a most feminine way.  Then she turned around, and he saw her nipples harden, suddenly exposed to the coldness of the room.

She caught him staring and began to reach up to cover herself.  It was just a reflex, he knew, but one he wanted her to forget when she was with him.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he sighed.  “Please, stop this torture and come to me.”  He just wanted to feel her skin against his, her head nestled on his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck.  He tried to turn to his side, but his left arm was like a rock.   _Finally reunited, and I can barely move._  But he was aroused and wished his own breeches were in a pile on the floor.

She padded across the stone floor and crawled across him to lay at his right side.  He kissed the top of her head, relishing the familiar scent of her.  She smelled of woodsmoke, and sweat, and the crisp air of winter, and somehow it was sweeter than any perfume.  After she pulled the furs over them, careful to not bump his left arm, she snuggled in next to him, and there was nothing else in the world that Jaime could have wanted in that moment.  He turned his face to hers and kissed her gently, then sighed in contentment.  There would be time for pleasure, lots of time if things would finally work out in their favor, and he intended to do everything within his power to make sure it did.  One thing he knew for certain, he would never again leave her side when there was a rift between them.

Eventually, her leg hitched up across his, and her arm slid across him.  Her hand lay flat against his chest, and he could feel his heart beating against it.  He would sleep well tonight, he knew, and maybe when he woke, he would be a bit more mobile to do more.  The thought of her breathlessly saying his name made him hard all over again, and he forced himself to close his eyes.

“Are you busy tomorrow morning?” he asked casually.

“No,” she replied, murmuring against his neck.

“Good,” he said simply.  He wanted to say so much more - tell her how much he longed to marry her and be hers forever.  But he thought better of it - she understood his meaning, and she said he always talked too much anyway.

He was just about to fall asleep when he felt her hand trailing down his chest, across the muscles of his abdomen and to the waist of his breeches.  Her fingers toyed with the hair there as she traced languid circles on his skin.  His whole body tensed, and he bit his lip to hold back a moan as her hand moved lower across the fabric.  “Brienne, I want nothing more, but I cannot move.”

“Shh,” she hushed him as she got to her knees and deftly undid his laces.  She pushed his breeches down and ran her hand along his shaft, and he groaned and pushed up against her touch.

“Oh gods, Brienne.”  He looked up at the firelight dancing across the ceiling and ran his shortened arm across his face.  Then his mind exploded as he felt her lips tentatively touch his throbbing head, followed shortly by the warmth of her tongue.  “Seven fucking hells,” he moaned, and he almost lost himself right them.

“Shh,” she whispered again, then returned to her unsure exploration of his cock with her mouth.  She had to be pleased by his reaction, and even if her inexperience showed, it did not detract from how amazing it felt.  His hips began to rock against her as her hand worked the length of him, and he became lost in a world of pleasure.   _I must be dead, this cannot be real.  I must be rotting somewhere out there in the snow._  Then he came with a loud groan, and he knew it was all real.  She had moved her mouth away just before, and he spurted across his own belly.

“I… Brienne, gods-” he spoke nonsensically; he had no words.  She slid back up to lay at his right side and he pulled her to him to kiss her deeply.  An accomplished smile played at the corner of her lips, and he loved her for it.   _The woman loves a challenge._

“I would repay the favor, but I don’t have a hand to work with,” he said.  He could already feel a tingle in his fingers, however, like they were waking back up.  He took it as a sign that his arm would mend.

Somehow, after all of that, she still managed to blush at his words.  Then she leaned over him, smoothed his hair from his forehead and kissed it tenderly.  His heart swelled in his chest, and he had to swallow back the emotion that welled up in him.  He kissed her then, soft and slow, and her lips parted to to give his tongue entrance.  There was nothing but her, and he could not say how long they laid like that, until finally they broke apart and he trailed kisses along her jaw.

“I will need to go to Tarth eventually,” she whispered.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed against her skin.

“Will you go with me?” she asked with so much hope and trepidation that she could not hide it, and he smiled against her skin.

“Of course, what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t?”

“Well, I don’t expect you to follow me around like some puppy,” she said lightly.

“I’m sorry to tell you, my lady, but you will never be rid of me.”  Then he pulled back to look her in the eyes.  He was surprised to see they were welled up with tears.

“I love you, Jaime,” she whispered as one tear rolled down her cheek.  He wanted to wipe it away, but couldn’t, so he kissed it instead.  Once she settled down against his chest, he reaffirmed what he had told her before.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back together :) :) Thanks for all the comments and support, it is so encouraging!


	16. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little icing on the cake :) I think there will be two more chapters to follow, a Tyrion POV and a final Brienne POV.

**Sunrise**

 

Jaime woke to the sun in his eyes and Sam’s face looming over him.   _The sun?_  It was indeed the sun, faint and distant, but Jaime could still feel the rays warming his skin.  Sam was apologizing for intruding, saying something about the bandages needing to be changed at a precise time.  Brienne slept soundly next to him, and he went to shade his eyes with his hand.

“Careful, Ser Jaime.  Don’t move it,” Sam said and eased his arm back down and began to evaluate it.  “Quite a bit better, I’d say.  And look, the sun has risen!”

“Yes, Sam, I see that.”  Jaime’s voice was rough from sleep, and he and Brienne were naked beneath the furs, which Sam was awkwardly ignoring.

“I will rebandage it and give you a sling.  You must keep it still for one more day at least, even though it feels better.”  Sam applied the same stinking salve he had put on his arm the night before, then took some steaming bandages out of a iron crock at his feet.  “Swordbite has not been seen in centuries… I am writing a case report on your injury for the Citadel - it’s very exciting.”

Jaime nodded, “Yes, very.”  He found it difficult to be annoyed at Sam, even though he was making him feel like a Maester’s experiment.

Brienne stirred at his side and slid an arm around his waist in her sleep, burrowing into his shoulder.  Sam’s cheeks flushed and his eyes grew wide, but he kept his eyes on Jaime’s arm.  Then Brienne let out a soft but indecent moan.

“Heavy sleeper,” Sam squeaked.  Jaime saw sweat beading up on his brow, and decided to toy with him.  Beneath the thick pile of furs, he trailed his right arm along Brienne’s hip and brushed over the place between her thighs.  She hummed with pleasure and dragged her leg up over his knees.  Sam froze.

“I can come back later,” Sam sputtered.  “I… she…”

Jaime held back a grin and stopped himself from embarrassing Sam any further.  “It’s alright.  She must be having a good dream.”   _She deserves some pleasant dreams after all the nightmares._

“She was brilliant in the Smoking Sea,” Sam said as he finished wrapping Jaime’s arm.  “Quite the swordswoman.”

“She is,” Jaime replied.  He remembered the first time he had seen her fight, cutting down three men with ease, as if they were no more than training dummies in the yard, with a fire in her eyes that had stunned him into an uncustomary silence.

“Alright, you’re all set.  Keep the arm still for one more day, and tomorrow you should be good as new.  Oh, here’s the sling.”

“Thank you Sam.  This interlude has made me realize that there is something worse than losing your sword hand.”   _Losing both._

Sam looked at him soberly, his characteristic cheer gone from his face.  “There is always something worse, but it doesn’t make the reality any easier.  I’m glad I could help you, Ser Jaime.”  Then he brightened back up and collected the last of his things.  “It’s been an honor, actually.”

“I am lucky you were here.”

“Well, I’ll see you later then.”  Sam smiled sheepishly and trundled out of the room.

“Do you think yourself funny?” Brienne rumbled next to him as soon as the door closed.  She dug her hand into his side to poke at his ribs.

Jaime hauled her on top of him, his left arm was awake and responding better than he could have hoped.

“Sam said you are to keep it still,” she protested as she came to rest on his chest, her long legs straddled across his hips.  She was wet, he noticed with satisfaction, and he was already hard - her lusty sighing had seen to that.  The head of his cock had seated itself naturally in her folds, all it would take was a little twitch of his hips and he’d be inside her.

“You have me in quite the position to demand I keep still.”  He wiggled his hips and she gasped as he slipped into her.  “But if you insist.”

“Jaime, I…” She frowned then shifted her hips to let him further in, but then stilled.  It was only their second time, and he had managed to get her on top already.  He smiled innocently to her.

“Yes?” he asked.  Her awkwardness was endearing and reminded him that there had never been anyone else for her.  “Just do whatever feels good.”

A determined look overtook her features as she hesitantly began to move on top of him.  He enjoyed the view and the motion was not unpleasant, but he could tell she was still searching for the right angle, the right rhythm.  She learned forward, and he took this opportunity to nip at her breasts.  Her breathing was becoming more rapid and her chest and cheeks were flushed, and he could feel his own pleasure mounting.  Then she leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, the movement of her hips becoming more demanding, and he met her as best he could.

“Oh gods,” she moaned as she pushed him deep inside her, and he felt her tightening around him in waves.  He wrapped his right arm around her hip and pushed up into her roughly, then a growl escaped him as he finished, his heart racing.  She collapsed on top of him and he just laid there, feeling her chest rise and fall as she caught her breath.  She put her full weight on him, he noticed with satisfaction, with no hint of self consciousness or attempt to hide her body from him.   _My wife is finally letting me hold her._

After a time, she stirred and slid over to his side.

“We should get moving,” Jaime said reluctantly as he sat up.

“What in the world for?” she asked sleepily.  “I’m sure no one will miss us for one morning.”  She curled her arm tighter around his waist and burrowed deeper beneath the furs.  “Stay in bed, I might have need of you,” she smiled.

 _And now she teases me,_ he thought as he grinned down at her.

“I would love to, but we have somewhere to be.  I’ve asked Sam for a favor, and we should not keep him waiting.”  He leaned down and kissed her gently, just a brush of his lips against hers.  “Come to the Godswood with me.”

 

The Godswood was silent and full of sunshine.  Dappled rays shone through the tree branches and sprinkled the ground with light.  Jaime readjusted his sling as he and Brienne walked to the heart tree.  He was not nervous, just filled with gratitude that they had been given this chance.  By most odds, neither of them should even be alive.  He already considered himself bound to her since the first time they had come together.   _No, it has been longer than that._  He could not pinpoint the exact moment - perhaps it was as far back as Riverrun.  Their conversation in the tent had been heavy with emotion and truths.   _When she tried to give back Oathkeeper - that was the moment._  His words echoed in his head as they found Sam standing nervously beneath the weirwood.

“Hello again,” Sam said as he rocked on his heels.  “Quite the audience you’ll have, anyway,” he chirped.

There was not a single man or woman in the Godswood except for the three of them.  However, all three dragons had crammed themselves within its walls.  There was barely any empty space left, and the outer wall looked as if it was bowing outward from the pressure of the giant beasts.  They all wanted to be near the hot springs, and none of them were willing to relinquish their spot, so instead they sat jammed together like too many pigs in a pigpen.  They looked absurd.   _They are like enormous, fire-breathing housecats._

Sam knew the words perfectly, having memorized them that morning.  Brienne said hers stoically and Jaime took a cue from her and did the same.  She was not the blushing bride, nor would she ever be.  Jaime knew that she felt she had a reputation to maintain, and being a giddy newlywed was not part of it.   _No matter, I have no desire for a vapid woman.  And gods know she blushes enough in the bedchamber._

The ceremony was quick, and before long Sam was saying his congratulations and making a hasty retreat from the Godswood, giving one last wary look to the dragons.  Jaime and Brienne were left alone beneath the heart tree, standing together in a comfortable silence.  He could see the tower of the First Keep from where he stood, and he could not help but think of that day so long ago that he had pushed Bran Stark.   _And now the people I did it to protect are all dead anyway._  Brienne touched his arm lightly.  He pulled her to him and felt the warmth of her cheek against his.   _But she is right here. Somehow we are both here, living and breathing._  He always believed he had but one choice in life, and that was to move forward - not drown in the past. The weirwood rustled its branches above them, and Jaime felt as if the carven face was looking at him, seeing his thoughts, and agreeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I appreciate the feedback so very much!


	17. Unions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV

**Unions**

 

Tyrion sat in the great hall of Winterfell, enjoying the food and drink of a feast thrown to celebrate the union of the North and the South.  The revelry was loud and boisterous - there had been far too much suffering here and the people were due some happiness.  Daenerys sat next to him and was currently voicing her opinion on Jaime and Brienne’s marriage.

“She is an extraordinary woman.  I do not know what she sees in him,” Daenerys said as she picked a piece of cheese from Tyrion’s plate.   _ You may be the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms to think that,  _ he mused and watched with irritation as she popped the cube of White Harbor cheddar into her mouth.  He had been looking forward to trying it.

“My Queen, may I get you something to eat?  Let me fill your plate for you,” he said diplomatically.

“I’m perfectly fine as I am,” she replied lightly, then her face changed to that of the Queen of Dragons as Jon Snow approached the table.  Her violet eyes hardened, and her lips set into a firm line.

“Queen Daenerys,” Jon Snow said and bowed to her.

Daenerys rose to her feet, and Tyrion followed suit.  “King Jon,” she replied and returned the courtesy.  Tyrion bowed his head as low as he could without hitting it on the tabletop, which was not very low.  He had been surprised with how easily a peace had been brokered between North and South, until he’d found out about Snow’s true lineage.  Then it all made sense, and he expected Daenerys to wed Snow to solidify the union - Tyrion had actually recommended it - but she refused.  “Jon belongs in the north with a northern woman,” she said, and Tyrion knew when not to argue.

Jon Snow moved away, but before Tyrion could sit, Brienne of Tarth strode up to their table.  Her skin glowed, her hair shone radiant in the torchlight, and her lips and cheeks looked wind-kissed, as if she had just come in from a brisk walk outside.   _ Some serving women finally got a hold of her.  I wonder how long she protested before she allowed them to scrub her down. _  Tyrion imagined the former Maid of Tarth clinging to the edge of the tub like a cat avoiding a bath, but he knew it was not a fair judgement.   _ She lives the life of a warrior, and a warrior who manages to remain clean is not worth the cost of the food he eats. _

Jaime stood at her side, beard shaven and hair trimmed.  He wore simple clothes, and his left arm was in a sling, though Tyrion saw him move his fingers.   _ Thank the gods the arm is coming back. _

“Your Grace, Lord Tyrion,” Brienne said, and they both bowed.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Daenerys said with a warm smile.

“Yes, my brother is finally a married man.  I never thought I’d see the day,” Tyrion said.  He saw Brienne shift uncomfortably, then added, “Truly, I can think of no better woman for him.  You look splendid, Lady Brienne.  Jaime, you look… passable,” Tyrion grinned at him.  “You are a lucky man to be her husband.”  Tyrion spoke the words without thinking, but they were heavy with sincerity.

“To have the chance to marry for love is a gift that should not be squandered.  I am pleased by your happiness,” Daenerys said to Brienne.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Brienne replied.  Tyrion could see she was relieved that Daenerys held no ill will towards her for not taking the vows of the Queensguard.

“How is the arm, Jaime?” Tyrion asked as he swirled the wine in his goblet.

“Much better.”  Jaime raised his arm at the shoulder and wiggled his fingers.

“Maester Tarly says you are to keep it still,” Brienne muttered with a frown.

“I’m sorry, my wife,” Jaime said and smiled at her is his typical roguish way.

Tyrion watched in amazement as Brienne’s stoic exterior melted away for a moment when she gazed back at Jaime, and a hint of a blush crept up her neck.   _ Gods, she is like putty in his hands.   _ Jaime’s own face softened.   _  And he in hers.  Thank the gods they are going to Tarth, I don’t think I could stand to see this every day. _

The newlyweds moved away, and as Tyrion watched them go, he wondered if they would have children.   _ The babe will be big as a calf, and come out walking.  And woe to any knight who hopes to win a tourney in the next few decades - if they have sons, there will be none who could match them.  Or daughters for that matter. _

Daenerys finished off the wine in his goblet, then refilled his glass.

He was going to say he would gladly serve her wine when he noticed a questioning look in her eye.

“Does it bother you that I drink from your cup as well as eat from your plate, my Hand?”

“I…er, no my Queen, what’s mine is yours,” Tyrion said, uncharacteristically tripping over his words.

“As I was saying, I don’t know what she sees in him.  She thinks him a rare breed, but I have met plenty of men like Jaime.  Blessed with a warrior’s body and brains enough to get by.”

“Brienne sees something in Jaime that no one else does.”  He paused, then added,” And I feel oddly compelled to defend my brother.  He is as you say, but there is more to him than that.  He is the only person in my entire life who has truly loved me.  Most children have their mothers to give them that unconditional love.”

“We did not,” Daenerys finished for him.  “I know, maybe I judge him to harshly.”

“He saved you from Robert Strong,” Tyrion reminded her.

“As did you,” she said and leaned on the armrest of her chair to look at him.  Tyrion felt his face knit into an uncomfortable expression.  “All I’m saying is that I find your brother dull.  I prefer a man with some wit and intellect.”

_ Gods, what is happening. _  Tyrion grabbed for his goblet and took a deep drink as Daenerys watched him with taunting eyes.   _ She eats from my plate, drinks from my cup, and finds Jaime the less desirable of the Lannister brothers. _

“Interesting, my Queen,” Tyrion said lamely, unable to think of anything else.

“Your Grace, Lord Tyrion.”  Bronn’s voice interrupted their conversation.

“Bronn!  I owe you a drink, do I not?  For keeping Jaime in one piece while I was gone?”  Tyrion was already out of his chair and making his way around the table.  “My Queen, if you would give me your leave,” Tyrion said quickly as he looked at Daenerys.

She arched a thick eyebrow, her amused eyes pinned on him.  “Of course, but I will need to speak to you on matters of the kingdom after the feast.  Meet me in my chambers tonight.”

“Of course,” Tyrion blurted out, then he beelined to a hearth down one of the side halls, Bronn trailing behind him.

“Bronn, oh gods,” Tyrion said.  He felt pale and clammy, and he put his hands on his knees.

“Well, I’d be scared too if the Maid of fucking Tarth just became my sister-by-law,” Bronn said as he handed Tyrion a cup of wine.  “But really, if anyone should be scared it should be Jaime, for the battering his pretty little cock is going to take.”  Bronn chuckled at his own joke and took a drink.

“Bronn, I think the Queen means to bed me,” Tyrion wheezed.

Bronn’s black eyebrows shot up on his forehead.  “I’m sorry, what was that?  I thought I just heard you say something about fucking the Queen.  I know you want to fuck her,” Bronn said knowledgeably.

“I do  _ not _ want to do that,” Tyrion said between gritted teeth. _  Do I?  No, gods no. _  Though, truthfully, he had never let himself entertain the notion.   _ But I love her, just as any man should love his Queen.  _  It was only that - it had to be only that.

“Sure you do, I can tell.  I’m somewhat of an expert.”

Before Tyrion could continue, Jaime came striding down the side passageway towards them.  As soon as he was out of view of the great hall, he sighed and ripped off his sling, then stretched his arm out, joints cracking.

“Gods, I’ve been wanting to take that bloody thing off for hours.”

“Your lady wife has you on a tight leash,” Bronn said, then handed Jaime a goblet of wine.  “Drink with us, unless you’re needed in the bedchamber.  How’s that going, by the way?  She snap your cock off yet?”  Bronn spoke the last words with feigned concern, and touched Jaime’s shoulder in mock support.

Tyrion flopped himself in front of the fire and gazed into the flames as Jaime voiced his disgust with Bronn’s general churlishness.

“Well, your little brother thinks he’s got himself quite the problem,” Bronn said in a louder voice so Tyrion would hear.  “He thinks the Mother of Dragons wants more from him than his brilliant political mind.”

“What does she want?” Jaime asked, concerned.

Tyrion muttered into his wine and waved his hand dismissively.

“What?” Jaime asked again.

“She wants to ride him like a Dothraki stallion,” Bronn said.

Jaime’s eyes twinkled as he gave Tyrion a half smile.  “Why little brother, I’ve never known you to shy away from… that.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am a reformed man,” Tyrion said indignantly, then gestured with his wine cup.  “Well, not completely reformed, but we all have our vices.”

Bronn snorted, then looked to Jaime and changed the subject.  “So, what’s next for you?”

Jaime sank into a chair next to Tyrion and leaned back, resting an ankle on the opposite knee.  “We leave for White Harbor in the morning.  From there, we sail for Tarth.”

“And then?”

“And then… I don’t know.  The Evenstar is an old man, and can’t live forever.  I’m sure Tarth will pass the Brienne sooner than later.  We’ll stay put for a time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bronn said.  “I think after all this, what more can a man want than a woman to warm his bed and a castle to grow old in.  What about Casterly Rock?”

“I don’t want the Rock.  I never wanted it.”  Jaime took a drink.  “Conveniently, the Dragon Queen doesn’t want me to have it either.”

Tyrion turned the goblet in his hand, watching the light play across the worked metal of its surface, a rendering of direwolves playing in the snow.  “That honor has fallen to me.  Somehow I must be Hand in King’s Landing and Lord of the Rock.”  It occurred to him now that it would be politically advantageous for he and Daenerys to marry.  She already had the support of the Dornish.  The Tyrells would support anyone who was not Cersei, and the Riverlands and the Stormlords had bent the knee already.  Only the Westerlands remained to be tamed - they had the luxury of being a distance from King’s Landing so they had not seen dragons in the sky yet.

“What is next for Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?” Jaime asked.

“Ah, well I plan on drinking quite a bit tonight.  And tomorrow.  But if you mean long-term plans, I think I would return to my roots.”

“You would be a sellsword again?” Jaime asked with surprise.  “Didn’t you just say you would want a castle and a woman to go with it?”

“Eh, not all of us are that old yet,” Bronn said with a taunting look to Jaime.

Jaime scoffed and Tyrion laughed, but in truth, Jaime looked like he had aged a decade in the past few years.  His long blonde hair and devil-may-care attitude had been replaced with cropped hair that was flecked with more than a little silver, and his face now showed its age with a handful of fine wrinkles and worry lines.  He was glad Jaime would go to Tarth - he should be able to keep himself out of trouble there.

“I  _ am _ looking for work… if either of you are interested,” Bronn said.

Tyrion had a genuine smile at that.  “Bronn, you would miss us?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m always in need of a sword arm.  Come with me,” Tyrion said.  “Unless you prefer to look upon my brother’s handsome face.”

“No offense, but you’re not nearly as funny as your little brother,” Bronn said to Jaime.  “And I wouldn’t want to put a damper on newlywed bliss.  Besides, if I don’t go, who’s going to protect Lord Tyrion of Casterly Rock from the greedy cunt of the Dragon Queen?”

The three of them sat before the fire for a while longer, enjoying the drink and heat of the flames.  There was a time that Tyrion thought he would never see his brother again, let alone share a drink with him, but here they all were together again.  Finally, Tyrion bid them goodnight and left them to their cups.  He needed to meet with Daenerys.

Daenerys’ chambers were on the highest level of the castle, next to the Godswood so she could look out upon her dragons whenever she wanted.  This side of the caste was also the warmest due to its proximity to the hotsprings.  Two Unsullied stood guard at her door, faces taut and expressionless.  If they had any opinion on Tyrion visiting her chambers late at night, they did not betray it.

“The Lord Hand is here, my Queen,” one of the guards said in a thick accent.

“He may enter,” Daenerys replied in a commanding voice.

Tyrion squared his shoulders and put on his most serious face.  Surely, all of it was imagined.  She couldn’t possibly be interested in him - she could have any man she wanted.   _ What would she want with a scarred, stunted dwarf? _

He pushed open the door and walked in.

Her rooms were warm and scented with perfumes of Essos.  Silken curtains sectioned off parts of the room, and candles burned on the tables, offering the only light besides the fire crackling in the hearth.  Tyrion did not see her.

“My Queen?” he asked.

“One moment,” she said from behind a pale blue curtain.  The fabric was backlit by a cluster of candles, and he could only see shadows cast upon the silk.  Then he heard a splash.  She was in the tub.

“I can return later, if you are indisposed,” Tyrion said.

“No, stay.”  He saw her shadow rise from the tube, naked curves projected perfectly against the curtain.  Water pooled on the floor around her bare feet that showed beneath the edge of the fabric.  She had full breasts and hips and an hourglass figure, but was still petite with short legs and small feet.

_ My Queen means to kill me, _ he thought as he watched her shadow put on a robe.  Then she stepped around the curtain and gave him a discerning look.

“Come sit by the fire with me,” she said and padded across the stones.  She sat down and crossed one leg over the other, her wet skin glistening in the firelight where the fabric fell away from her knees.

Tyrion’s brow furrowed, but he obliged her and awaited her next order.  He knew it was coming, she seemed to be in commanding mood.

“It is good to be away from all the northerners.  They are strange, don’t you think?  So grim.  We will return to King’s Landing within the fortnight.  Are your affairs in order at Casterly Rock?”

“Yes, things are well there.  For the most part, they have remained pleasantly untouched by the war and the winter.  I should go there soon, though, if only to show my face.”  He had not been there ages, and he wondered what kind of reception he would get.  If he flew in on a dragon, he assumed any objections would be silenced.

“Good.”  She watched the fire for a time.  Her look was relaxed and calm, with no hint of an obsession with the flames.   _ Thank the gods we do not have another Aerys in her, at least for now,  _ he thought as he observed her.

“I’m weary of talking about politics and war and death.  Tell me a story, something funny,” she said.  “I don’t even care if it is true.”

Tyrion cocked his head and smiled.  This was something he could do.  He decided to tell the story of Bronn and his abbreviated betrothal to Lollys Stokeworth.  The queen was laughing before long, and he found his jokes becoming more outrageous.  He revelled in her laughter and the way her smile went all the way to her eyes, as if she were just another woman in a tavern and not the queen of a crippled realm.

Once he had finished, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned.  “I should leave you to your rest, my Queen.  It is late, and gods’ willing, the sun will rise even earlier tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she said as she rose from her chair.  Tyrion went to stand, but Daenerys approached him where he sat and kneeled down before him, sliding her hands to his lap.  He found himself covering her small hands with his own, his body reacting before his mind could give it permission.

She looked even more like any other woman now.  Her expression, usually so severe, was soft and open and something else.   _ Could the Dragon Queen be nervous?   _ Tyrion was shockingly calm, and suddenly all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and press his lips to hers.  He reached up and stroked the side of her face.  Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingertips, and then she leaned into his touch.   _ She is my queen, but she is also a woman.  A woman I love and would do anything for.  A woman on her knees before me. _  Tyrion steeled his nerves, then, as he trailed his hand to the nape of her neck, leaned forward to kiss her gently.

Daenerys returned the kiss, but kept it a chaste thing, lips closed.  When the kiss broke, she looked at him wonderingly.

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion whispered.  “I should not have-”

“Don’t,” she interrupted and nuzzled her face against the side of his.  “Don’t take it back.”

Her breath was warm against his ear as his heart raced with an intensity he never thought possible.  This could be the biggest mistake of his life, which was saying a lot, but he’d never felt this way before about anyone, not even Shae.  He’d loved Shae, no doubt, but he’d loved her for her dedication to him.  She filled some empty place in his life, taking up that role of unconditional love.  But her love did have a condition - money - no matter how vehemently she denied it.  Her betrayal shook him to his core, but it should not have come as a surprise.

Tyrion took Daenerys’ face in his hands and kissed her again.  “And that?  Should I take that back?”

“No,” she mumbled against his lips and then deepened the kiss.

Tyrion felt the ice around his heart melting, and he simultaneously cursed himself for letting it happen and rejoiced in the euphoric feeling of it.

“Will you stay?” she asked, the command gone from her voice.  It had to be his decision as well.

Tyrion nodded.  “I will stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that happened. I'm going to leave it at that for Tyrion, and I will be finishing up with one last Brienne POV. I need more fluff before I put this fic to bed :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, I really appreciate it!


	18. White Harbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter flips between POVs. Also, it contains references to infertility.

**White Harbor**

 

Although the sun did not rise until nearly midday, it still seemed too early for Brienne.  She could stay in bed forever with Jaime’s lanky limbs draped haphazardly across her.  Jaime, her husband.  The title was so new and strange to her, but he was not.  He was as he had always been, and she took comfort in that.

As if on cue, he stirred next to her, grabbing her bottom with his hand and pulling her close.  He nuzzled into her and hummed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.  “Good morning, wife.”

“Nearly afternoon,” she replied as she let her legs fall apart; his hips nestled between them.

“Yes,” he sighed, and she could feel his arousal pressed against her belly, and a pang of longing coursed through her.  “Now, my wife.  Which of your wifely duties would you like to attend to first?  Mayhaps fetch me some breakfast?  I am quite famished.”  He trailed kisses along the sensitive skin of her neck.  “Or you could see to my cock, it is in dire need of attention.”  He pressed against her, and she moaned most wantonly.  The feel of his desire made her forget his jape about breakfast, and she arched into him.

“Excellent choice, my wife,” he purred and lowered his mouth to her breasts.  He captured a firm nipple in his mouth and suckled at it urgently as his hand massaged the other.  She’d never believed a man could take such pleasure in her, but here Jaime was groaning into her flesh as she began to beg for more.  He was not just any man though, and that thought alone was enough for her to slip her hands to his cock and take it into herself.  She cried out his name as he entered her, the first thrust alone nearly too much to withstand, and then his hand slid down her side and began to tease the place between her legs.  With his tongue still laving her nipple, she soon lost all control.  His cock was deep inside her, butting against some place of pleasure she had never felt before, and she greedily grabbed his hips, forcing him further in with each thrust.  She came with a scream, and he growled fiercely against her breast, then scooped his arm around her bottom and rutted against her, his hips crashing into her with abandon.  He came with a roar, and she felt his cock spasm inside her as he reached his release.  He collapsed on top of her, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked after a time.  He’d been rougher with her than usual.

“Mmhmm,” she replied and kissed his temple.  “But we need to get out of bed at some point.”

“Fuck,” he muttered then chuckled against her skin.  “Though it will be nice to be on the road again, just the two of us.”

Her heart leapt at that.  She had been thinking the same, but had not wanted to say so in case he would think her excessively romantic.  “Our horses and supplies should be ready.  The road to White Harbor is pleasant enough, and there are a few nice inns along the way.”

“Believe me, wife, when I say the nights are what I look forward to most.”  He gave her a devilish grin then reluctantly clambered out of bed.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Jaime ended up being the one to fetch breakfast for the two of them.  Then he met Brienne down at the stables, where they saddles their horses and double-checked supplies.  There was a bottle of Arbor Gold in the saddlebag of his horse, something he did not remember packing.

“A wedding gift,” Tyrion said as he came up behind him.  “Don’t drink it all in one sitting, though.  I’ve seen you drunk, and it’s not very becoming on you.”  His little brother gave him a sly grin, obviously referencing their regrettable conversation about his first time with Brienne.  He wanted to tell his brother that he had redeemed himself in the bedchamber many times over but decided to let keep that to himself.

“Thank you.  When will I see you again?” Jaime asked.

“Soon, with any luck.  The Queen returns to King’s Landing in the next few days, and I with her.  As soon as she gives me leave, I will come to Tarth for a visit.”

“So…what became of you last night, little brother?  Where your fears ill-founded?”

“Yes, they were.”  Tyrion had the most incredibly unreadable face when he so chose, and Jaime knew he would get nothing more than that from him, at least for now.  Maybe when Tyrion came to Tarth, he could get him into his cups and hear more of the story.

“Alright then,” Jaime knelt and the brothers hugged as they hadn’t since he had freed Tyrion from a black cell.  “Stay safe, and don’t anger your Dragon Queen too much with that acid tongue of yours.”

“She keeps me as her Hand because I tell her the truth, but yes, I will do my best to keep my lady happy.”

Jaime arched a brow at Tyrion’s slip of the tongue.   _So it’s “My Lady” now, is it?  I will surely need to get to the bottom of this.  I wonder how much wine it will take to loosen his lips._

“Safe travels, Jaime.  Though I doubt you have much to fear with your wife at your side.  Send a raven when you arrive - I have never been to Tarth and would like to hear all about it.”

“Of course,” Jaime replied then climbed atop his horse.  Brienne cantered over to them and nodded to Tyrion.

“Lady Brienne, do keep my brother out of trouble,” Tyrion said to her.

“I’m not sure if that is possible, Lord Tyrion, but I will do my best,” she replied and graced Tyrion with a rare public smile.

Jaime rode out the Winterfell gates, Brienne at his side with the sun shining down upon them, and he took a deep breath in of the fresh winter air.  “A beautiful day,” he muttered to himself, and they kicked their horses into a gallop and flew across the field.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

They were a day’s ride out from White Harbor, when in the afternoon they came upon a cluster of houses, long since gutted and burned.  The horses clomped through the soot-laden road, and the bare branches of the trees stretched over them like grasping fingers, begging help for the long dead citizens of the town.  But then they saw a half-burned home with a line of freshly-laundered clothes hanging outside.  The wooden door hung nearly off its hinges, kicked-in and splintered.  Jaime looked to Brienne with a questioning eye.

“Someone yet lives in this town,” she said and stared at the hovel with a furrowed brow.

Jaime nodded at their unspoken decision as they led their horses towards the cottage.  They both dismounted and drew their swords as Brienne edged towards the splintered remains of the door.  She looked back to Jaime, and he gestured to the door, silently communicating his intent to watch her back.

She stepped over the threshold, and a heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach.  The room lay ransacked, and a pair of bare legs stuck out from behind a small bed in the corner of the room.  She had thought she had seen enough of the savagery of men to numb her, but she was wrong and felt sick at the sight.  She made a sound of disgust that caught in her throat.

“What is it?” Jaime asked and muscled his way through the door behind her.  He saw the corpse immediately, and he stepped lightly across the room, then covered the woman with a sheet from the bed.  “This happened recently.”

“Yes,” Brienne said.  “We must bury her.”  Though the war against the Others was won, the King’s Peace was by no means restored.  Bandits, rapers, and murderers still roamed the countryside, though she had seen nothing of their activity on her last journey.  Perhaps the cold of the Long Night had kept even the evilest of men stowed away in their holes.  Now that the sun had returned, so had humanity, in all its shapes and forms.  King Jon would restore the peace to the North, she knew it, but it would take time.

“Brienne,” Jaime said haltingly, staring at the floor behind the bed.

“What is it?” she asked as she naturally fell into a defensive stance.

Jaime knelt down behind the bed and grabbed something, then stood, holding it awkwardly in his arms.  It was a child, no more than two years old.  The babe made no noise, just stared at him in resignation, too tired and dehydrated to even cry.

“Gods, Jaime, is she fevered?  Is she alright?” Brienne asked as she stepped through the mess on the floor towards him.

Jaime’s face scrunched up in confusion and a frown touched his lips as he felt the little girl’s forehead with what remained of his right wrist.  “No fever that I can tell.  Fucking hells, what do we do with her?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the child.  She was a comely babe with plump cheeks and a feathering of white blond hair atop her head.  Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes alert as she stared back at Jaime.  Then the little girl’s pink lips curled into a smile, and she swung a fat hand at Jaime’s face.  It smacked into his cheek, and he looked at Brienne in bewilderment.   _Even a babe knows he is the handsome Golden Lion of Lannister,_ she thought, and watched the interaction with an amusement that she hid as best she could.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was your own flesh and blood.  Look at her, blond hair and beautiful sapphire eyes.”  Jaime shifted the babe on his hip.  “And she is quite sturdy,” he said with a soft smile to the girl.

“We cannot leave her here,” Brienne said, stating the obvious.

“No, we will bring her to White Harbor.  Someone will take her.”  Jaime tapped the little girl on the nose, eliciting a squeal of delight from the child.  Gods, children were so resilient.  And she would be no burden as they would be within the city walls of White Harbor by nightfall.

“Here,” Jaime said and proffered the babe to her.

“What?  Why do I have to hold her?”

“I don’t know what to do with a child,”

“Neither do I.”  Brienne reluctantly took the child into her arms.  The little girl rested her blonde head on Brienne’s shoulder with such a trust that it made her heart ache.   _What has befallen you, child, that you would be so accepting of a complete stranger?_  Then she saw Jaime’s eyes upon her, watching her fondly, and a knife twisted in her gut.   _Will he be disappointed if I bear him no children of his own?_ But perhaps her worries were unfounded, and she hoped the Maester in White Harbor would have answers for her.

After eating lunch and giving the babe some food and drink, they continued on their way to White Harbor, each taking turns riding with the little girl seated before them wrapped in furs.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

The sun had set a few hours before Jaime finally saw the lights of White Harbor.  As they rode into town, the baby asleep on the saddle before him, he admired the white stones of the buildings, clean and pristine, as torchlight danced upon the mortar.  The salty breeze off the harbor rustled his hair.  It smelled clean and crisp, with a hint of fresh fish that wafted from the fishmonger stands that cluttered the dockside market.  Brienne road next to him with her hood pulled low.  She looked tired with a hint of worry in her eye.

“The child may have family here,” he said.  “Let’s get a room, and I will ask around at the taverns.  Someone may have known the poor girl.”   _Unlikely.  She looked to be nameless a refugee from King’s Landing, and we will never know who got this child on her.  The man could be anywhere - buried in the frozen snow for all I know._ But he would do his due diligence and inquire on the girl anyway, especially if it would cheer up his suddenly sullen Brienne.  At least he did not have bastards scattered about the Seven Kingdoms.  In part, he had Cersei to thank for that.  His blind, all-consuming love for her had prevented him from laying with another woman.   _At least I have not lost my honor in that way,_ he thought.  He could never think of his children with Cersei as bastards; they were, of course, but he’d never felt responsible for them.  In that regard, they had been Robert’s children.

They garnered few glances as they guided their horses down the main street of the city.  The child was hidden beneath the furs on his saddle, and both he and Brienne had their cloaks up, hiding their faces.  They looked like a pair of men, perhaps sellswords or men-at-arms to House Manderly.  That was all well enough; he was still not keen on being recognized as the Kingslayer in the North, even though news of his part in the fight for the dawn had surely spread.   _What did I do, really?  I am but one man, given the choice between breaking a siege or dangling at the end of the Dragon Queen’s noose._  Brienne had already told him that was an unfair assessment of his heroics, and she was never one to lavish undo flattery on him as some of the realm had been wont to do back in his two-handed days, so he had to believe her.

After seeing what the main street had to offer, Jaime wheeled his horse down a side road close to the docks.  These inns appeared to be used by the working class, traders and deep sea fishermen, and he doubted any highborn would stoop to visit them.  The White Gull Inn caught his eye, a small and warm-looking building of weather beaten cedar the color of bone.  He turned to ask Brienne what she thought of the place, but she was nearly nodding in the saddle, so he decided it would do.  They handed their horses to the stable boys and entered the inn.

“I did not realize how hungry I was,” Brienne said as the smell of fried cod hit their noses.  “It smells so good.”

“Never say I do not treat you to the finest, my lady,” Jaime kidded as he trailed his hand along her back.  She blushed and gave him a loving look as she bounced the girl in her arms.  “I’ll get us a room and bring my ladies their food in bed.”

Brienne nodded, thankful he realized how tired and overwhelmed she felt.

Once Brienne and the child were comfortably eating in a cozy room with the hearth roaring, Jaime left them to visit a few taverns and ask if anyone knew who the girl was - a waste of time, no doubt, but he secretly hoped that the child would be asleep by the time he returned.  She was a sweet thing, but he preferred to have Brienne all to himself.

Jaime decided to start at the inn and took a seat near the blanched cedar bar.  He caught the eye of the tender, the same man he had paid to stable the horses and rent a room.

“What are you drinking?” the tender asked pleasantly enough.

“Ale, please,” Jaime replied.

“You’ve been on the road, I take it?  How is it out there?” the tender asked as he slid a frothy brew in front of Jaime.

“Pleasant, for the most part, but the scum of the earth has come out of hibernation along with everything else.  We passed through a burned village a day’s ride north of here.”

The tender shrugged indifferently.  “Aye, I’m sure there are many towns out there like it.”

“Do you know who resided there?  We found a dead woman, a whore most like, with a child yet living, a girl.  The babe needs caring for.”

“I haven’t the faintest notion, and I doubt you’ll find one who does.  Give the babe to the Seven.  The Stranger is always in need of Silent Sisters.”

They could do that, though what kind of life that was, Jaime did not know.  But it was surely better than freezing to death, or whatever worse fate the girl had been in store for before they found her.  He finished his ale and nodded to the tender, then headed out to inquire at a few more taverns.

After taking a walking tour of the main street of White Harbor, Jaime had found out little and less from one tavern to the next.  The only thing people were able to tell him was that they thought his search was futile, and that no one cared about some whore’s get.

He returned to the White Gull Inn a few hours later, the ale he’d drank warming him and adding a vigor to his step.  Perhaps they would take the girl to Tarth.  Surely Brienne could find someone to look after her there.  Maybe she could work in the keep once she was of age.  They could keep an eye on her then.  He shook his head, wondering why he cared as he opened the door, suddenly wanting nothing but to climb into bed beside Brienne.

However, that was not to be.  Brienne slept soundly in the soft feather bed with the little girl snuggled up next to her.  He could not tell who was snoring louder, though he suspected the child.  They looked like two peas in a pod, and Jaime could not help but smile.   _Though you have robbed me of my wife for the night, little one.  Don’t get used to it._  Jaime kicked off his boots and took the smaller straw mattress on the opposite side of the room.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

The Maester at White Harbor was old and nearly blind, which was exactly why Brienne wanted to see him instead of Sam.  She knew Sam would be discreet, but she did not want to run the chance of him accidentally saying something, or worse yet, having him look at her strangely for the rest of her stay at Winterfell.

“Now, who did you say you were, young lady?” the Maester croaked.

“Lady Lyanne Peasbury, of the Stormlands.”

“What brings you so far north, my lady?  And in such times?”

“Such times are exactly what brings me here - we were bound for Braavos but had to make for port when the seas proved too rough.”

“Hmm, why would your captain not make for the Fingers?”  The Maester’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed.  They looked absurd on his gaunt face, like a huge white caterpillar had taken up residence upon his brow.

“Why would I know such a thing?” Brienne answered, becoming irritated.  Heat flushed her face again, and she huffed and fanned herself with her hand.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, you are but a woman.  Go on, girl, what is troubling you?  Are you sick from the voyage?”

“No, I am not sick.”   _I don’t think I’m sick, anyway._  “I have not bled in two months.”  It may have been even longer than that.  What she had thought to be her moon’s blood back at Winterfell turned out to be only scant bleeding, not even enough to reach her smallclothes.  Perhaps it was leftover from her maidenhead.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” he replied.  “If you're with child, it is too early for me to tell.  Are you newly married?  All you young women think you are pregnant the moment you marry.”

“I _know_ I am not with child.”  Brienne felt anger welling up.  “I am concerned about my ability to have a child.” Her voice sounded deep and intimidating in her own ears, and the Maester noticed as well, recoiling back from her.  She needed to be careful, so she forced her voice to lighten again.  ”I do not bleed regularly, and when I do, it is but a scanty thing.”

The Maester shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.  “Oh, so much thought goes into a woman’s body.  Tell me, do you want a child?”

Brienne paused at that.  She had never wanted one before, but with Tarth passing to her eventually, she would need an heir.  It was not something she had imagined for herself in a long time, ever since she left her father’s halls and joined Renly’s camp.  The past years had been a blur of travel, fighting, and sheer survival.  Even when she had lain with Jaime, the thought of falling pregnant had not crossed her mind.

“Well, do you?” the Maester prodded.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Bah, how can you not know.  If you want a child, then have one.  If you don’t, take some moon tea.”

Brienne’s mouth hung agape at how belittling his words were.  She stood and left him there at his desk without another word.  She was walking down the corridor towards the stairs when a middle aged woman gestured to her from a room down the hall.

“My lady, I am the midwife.”  The short, stout woman approached her.  “I could not help but overhear… the old Maester knows naught of women’s troubles.”  The midwife looked her over once, head to toe, but did not seem to recognize her, or care that she towered over her.  The woman was so short that nearly everyone must tower over her anyway.

Brienne felt herself relax; her clenched hands unfurled at her sides.  “I noticed as much.”

“What you describe could be any number of things.  Tell me, do you feel hot in the night?  Trouble sleeping?”

Brienne blushed at that.  She was always warm with Jaime next to her.  But before that, she did have to concede that she had noticed it was difficult to sleep, and despite being in the north in the dead of winter, she would occasionally feel flushed, as she had just before in the Maester’s office.

“On occasion.”

The midwife nodded thoughtfully.  “It is difficult to say, my lady, but you could be nearing the end of you bleeding years.  How old are you?  Are you past your thirtieth year?”

“A bit.”   _What is she saying?  That I am too old to have a child?_

“Well, it would be early, but it happens to all of us eventually,” the midwife said and squeezed her hand.  “And it is not a sure thing, just my best guess.  Even if it is so, do not lose hope.  I have seen many women bear children surprisingly late in life, well past their fortieth year.”

Brienne stood dumbfounded.  She was having difficulty processing the information.  She had never wanted a child before, and now it appeared that she may not even have the option.   _She cannot know that, though.  She says herself that it is only a guess._ But something in the pit of her stomach told her it was true.  When she was younger, her blood had been timely and consistent.  Only in the past few years had it become strange.  She had attributed it to the lifestyle she was leading, but now she wondered.

“My lady?  Are you alright?” the midwife asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.  Thank you for your help.”

The midwife gave her a sad, feeling smile then left her in the hall.

Brienne walked slowly down the spiral wooden staircase, the boards creaking in protest beneath her weight.   _At least I will not die in the birthing bed,_ she thought morbidly.  She wondered what Jaime would think if the midwife spoke true, and month after month she never fell pregnant.   _You’ve been a father three times over, Jaime._ Then she shook her head to herself.   _No, you have sired three offspring.  You were never allowed to be their father._ A strange grief welled up in her chest, catching her by surprise.   _Will you want a chance for that?_

Brienne pulled her cloak tightly around her body as she left the keep.  She felt naked without her armor and sword, but she knew she could carry neither if she wished to remain anonymous in her visit to the Maester.  The sun was setting after having been up for nearly six hours that day.  The days grew longer, and the wind less bitter cold.  There was more winter still to come, but at least the Long Night was behind them.

When she entered the White Gull Inn, she saw Jaime sitting at a table with the orphan on his knee.  His face was knit in concentration as he tried to feed her pieces of buttered bread and cheese.  The girl’s fat hands slapped at him, drool ran down her chin, and her blue eyes danced with mischief.  It was at that moment that Brienne knew exactly what she needed to do.  She hoped Jaime would agree.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I plan on writing a sequel to this at some point. It will be about what Brienne asks Jaime to do, their life together on Tarth, and what Tyrion is up to :) But I decided that this is a good place to end this fanfic. Thank you everyone for all the feedback and support, this has been such a wonderful experience, and I love this community!


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